Madame  Sans-Gene 
—  s 

AN   HISTORICAL  ROMANCE 


FOUNDED  ON  THE  PLAY 

BY 

VICTORIEN    SARDOU 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THI    FBRNCM 


LOUIE  R.  HELLER 


NEW  YORK  : 

HURST  &  COMPANY, 
Publishers. 


Copyrighted,  1895, 

BY 

HOME  BOOK  COMPANY. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
t 

THE      FRICASSEE. 

In  the  Rue  de  Bondy  lighted  lamps  smoked  and 
showed  the  entrance  to  a  popular  ball,  the    Vaux-Hall. 

This  ball,  with  its  fantastic  name,  was  directed  by 
citizen  Joly,  an  artist  of  the  "  Theatre  des  Arts." 

This  was  in  the  great  days  of  July,  1792. 

Louis  XVI.  still  held  a  nominal  royalty  ;  but  his  head, 
destined  to  the  axe  since  the  twentieth  of  June,  rested 
now  uncertainly  on  his  shoulders. 

Revolution  thundered  in  the  very  streets. 

Robespierre,  Marat,  and  Barbaroux,  the  handsome 
Marsellais,  had  held  a  secret  conclave,  in  which,  with- 
out being  able  to  agree  in  their  choice  of  a  chief — a 
dictator  who  should  stand  as  the  "Friend  of  the  Peo- 
ple," they  had  decided  to  make  a  decisive  onset  on  the 
royal  family,  now  confined  in  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries 
as  in  a  fortress. 

Merr  waited  for  the  arrival  of  the  Marseilles  troops 
to  give  the  signal  for  the  insurrection. 


2  gftadam*  gm$-(&tM. 

The  Prussian  King  and  the  Austrian  Emperor  made 
preparations,  on  their  side,  to  throw  themselves  upon 
France,  which  they  considered  an  easy  prey,  a  nation 
overthrown  :  counting,  too,  upon  treasons  and  internal 
dissensions  for  cutting  a  passage  for  their  armies  even 
to  the  capital. 

With  unwarranted  arrogance  the  Prince  of  Bruns- 
wick, generalissimo  of  the  royal  and  imperial  armies, 
had  issued  from  Coblenz  his  famous  manifesto,  in  which 
he  said  : 

"  If  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries  be  forced  or  insulted, 
if  there  be  done  the  least  violence,  the  least  outrage,  to 
their  majesties,  the  King  Louis  XVI.  and  the  Queen 
Marie-Antoinette,  or  to  any  member  of  the  royal 
family  ;  if  their  security,  preservation,  and  liberty  be 
not  immediately  insured,  the  Emperor  and  the  King 
will  take  such  vengeance  as  shall  be  forever  memo- 
rable, in  delivering  up  the  city  of  Paris  to  a  military  ex- 
ecution and  to  total  overthrow,  and  the  chief  conspirators 
to  such  punishment  as  they  shall  richly  deserve." 

Paris  answered  in  wildly  defiant  tones  by  organizing 
the  uprising  of  the  tenth  of  August. 

But  Paris  is  ever  a  volcano  with  two  craters  ;  its 
joy  ever  alternates  with  passion. 

Men  armed  themselves  in  the  suburbs.  They  talked 
in  the  clubs,  at  the  Commune  ;  they  distributed  car- 
tridges to  the  national  patriotic  guards  without  in  the 
least  losing  their  taste  for  pleasure  and  their  love  of 
dancing.  For  people  were  much  agitated  in  the  days 
of  the  Revolution. 


Padame  jgattl-Cftttte.  3 

On  the  fresh  ruins  of  the  Ba'stille,  at  last  demolished, 
a  placard  was  placed,  bearing  the  words :  "  Here  one 
may  dance." 

And  this  was  not  irony.  The  good  fortune  which 
could  place  in  the  hands  of  the  patriots  the  melan- 
choly site  where,  through  many  centuries,  the  un- 
fortunate victims  of  monarchical  caprice  had  groaned 
unheard,  made  that  a  place  wherein  to  tune  the  violins. 

Strains  of  joy  succeeded  the  melancholy  hoot  of  the 
owl ;  and  it  was,  moreover,  one  way  of  proving  the 
entire  disappearance  of  the  old  regime. 

The  revolution  was  accomplished  amid  the  singing 
of  the  "  Marseillaise  "  and  the  dancing  of  the  "  Car- 
magnole." 

To  enumerate  the  many  balls  going  on  at  that  time 
in  Paris  would  take  much  space.  There  was  dancing 
at  the  H6tel  d'Aligre",  in  the  Rue  d'Orleans-Saint- 
Honore" ;  at  the  Hotel  Biron,  in  the  Hanoverian  tent ; 
in  the  hall  of  the  Exchequer  ;  at  the  Hotel  de  Longue- 
viHe  ;  in  the  Rue  Filles-Saint-Thomas  ;  at  la  Modgstie  ; 
at  the  dance  of  Calypso  ;  in  the  faubourg  Montmartre, 
at  Poncherons  ;  at  la  Courtille,  and  lastly,  at  the  Vaux- 
Hall,  whither  we  propose  to  take  the  readers. 

Like  the  costumes,  the  dances  of  the  old  school  were 
blent  with  new  steps  ;  the  pavane",  the  minuet,  and  the 
gavotte  were  succeeded  by  the  tre"nitz,  the  rigaudon, 
the  monaco,  and  the  popular  fricassee. 

On  the  vast  floor  of  the.  Vaux-Hall  one  night,  at  the 
close  of  July,  1792,  there  was  a  great  crowd,  and  people 
were  amusing  themselves  mightily.     The  women  w«r« 


4  gHaflam*  ^an^-(?5cne. 

young,  agile,  and  well  dressed,  and  the  men  were  full 
of  life. 

The  costumes  were  varied.  Short  breeches,  with 
stockings,  wig,  and  French  coat,  stood  side  by  side 
with  revolutionary  long  trousers  ;  for  let  us  remark,  in 
passing,  that  the  term  "  sans-culottes  "  which  was  used 
to  designate  the  patriots,  signified  simply  that  these 
went  about  without  the  customary  covering  for  the 
legs  ;  the  other  faction  would  have  said  that  the  legs 
of  the  revolutionists  were  too  much  covered,  for  the 
citizens  used  more  cloth  and  no  longer  wore  breeches, 
but  pantaloons. 

Many  uniforms  shone  there,  for  many  of  the  national 
guards  were  in  the  hall,  ready  to  rush  from  the  scene 
at  the  first  drum-call  to  begin  a  dance  about  the  throne, 
the  overture  to  the  Revolution. 

Among  these,  moving  with  the  air  of  a  victor,  and 
showing  to  advantage  as  he  passed  around  and  before 
the  pretty  girls,  was  a  tall,  muscular  youth,  whose  face 
was  both  energetic  and  gentle,  and  who  wore  the  fop- 
pish costume  of  the  French  guard,  with  the  red  and 
blue  cockade  of  the  municipality  of  Paris.  The  silver 
braid  on  his  sleeve  indicated  his  rank  ;  he  had,  like 
many  of  his  comrades,  been  a  sergeant  in  the  city  mi- 
litia before  the  disbanding  of  the  French  guards. 

He  passed  again  and  again  before  a  robust  and 
pretty  girl  with  honest  blue  eyes,  who  was  not  dancing. 
She  eyed  the  fine  French  guardsman  scornfully  when 
he  hesitated  to  approach  her,  despite  the  encourage- 
ment of  his  comrades. 


Padame  £att0-<Ektt*.  5 

•«  Go  on,  go  on,  Lefebvre,"  whispered  one  of  the 
guards  ;  "  the  place  is  not  impregnable." 

••  Perhaps  she  has  herself  already  opened  a  breach, "* 
suggested  another. 

"If  you  dare  not  attempt  it,  I  shall  myself,"  added  a 
third. 

"  You  can  see  for  yourself  that  you  are  the  one  at 
whom  she  has  been  looking.  They  are  going  to  dance 
the  fricassee.  Ask  her  to  dance,"  spoke  the  first  man, 
encouraging  Sergeant  Lefebvre. 

The  latter  was  silent.  He  dared  not  accost  that 
fresh  young  woman,  who  was  in  nowise  abashed,  and 
yet  who  seemed  to  have  no  chilling  frost  in  her  glance. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Bernadotte  ?  "  asked  Lefebvre,  of 
him  who  had  last  spoken,  who  was  also  a  sergeant. 
"  By  Heaven  !  a  French  soldier  has  never  yet  retreated 
before  an  enemy  nor  in  the  presence  of  a  pretty  woman. 
/  will  make  the  attack  !  " 

And,  leaving  his  comrades,  Sergeant  Lefebvre  went 
straight  to  the  pretty  girl,  whose  eyes  were  now  filled 
with  angry  light,  and  who  stood  ready  to  receive  him 
in  fine  style,  having  overheard  the  disrespectful  re- 
marks the  soldiers  had  made  about  her. 

"  Listen,  girl,"  she  said  to  her  neighbor,  "  I  shall 
teach  those  saucy  guards  whether  or  not  I  have  made 
an  opening  for  them." 

She  got  up  quickly,  her  hands  on  her  hips,  her  eyes 
flashing,  her  tongue  ready  for  use,  prompt  to  return  an 
answer  to  the  attack. 

The  sergeant  thought  actions  would  count  more  than 


6  gttadam*  ^attg-dfretw. 

words.  So,  holding  out  his  arms,  he  seized  the  young 
girl  by  the  waist,  and  attempted  to  imprint  a  kiss  upon 
her  neck,  saying  as  he  did  so  : 

"  Mam'zelle,  will  you  dance  the  fricassee  ?  " 

The  girl  was  quick.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  she 
disengaged  herself,  and  launched  out  her  hand  in  the 
direction  of  the  sergeant's  cheek,  to  which,  as  he  stood 
abashed  and  confounded,  she  applied  it  vigorously, 
saying  coolly,  and  with  a  joyous  ring  in  her  voice, 
"  Take  that,  boy  !     There's  your  fricassee." 

The  sergeant  retreated  a  step  ;  rubbed  his  cheek  ; 
blushed  ;  and,  raising  his  hand  to  his  three-cornered 
hat,  said  gallantly,  "  Mam'zelle,  I  ask  your  pardon." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  offence,  lad.  Let  that  serve  you  as  a 
lesson.  Another  time  you'll  know  with  whom  you 
have  dealings,"  replied  the  girl,  whose  anger  now 
seemed  entirely  gone  ;  and  who  turned  to  her  compan- 
ion and  said  softly,  "  He's  not  at  all  bad,  that  guards- 
man." 

Bernadotte,  meantime,  who  had  followed  with  a 
jealous  eye,  when  his  companion  had  approached  the 
pretty  girl,  was  well  satisfied  to  see  things  grow  ugly, 
and  coming  up  to  him  took  him  by  the  arm  exclaiming  : 
«•  Come  with  us,  Lefebvre.  You  see  that  nobody  wants 
to  dance  with  you.  Perhaps  mademoiselle  doesn't 
know  how  to  dance  the  fricassee." 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  "  The  girl  spoke  quickly. 
"  I  can  dance  the  fricassee,  and  I  shall  dance  it  with 
whom  I  please — not  with  you,  however.  But  if  your 
comrade  were  to  ask  me  politely,  ah,  then,  I  should  be 


glad  to  dance  a  measure  with  him.  No  ill-feeling,  is 
there,  sergeant  ?  " 

And  the  happy,  light-hearted  girl  extended  her  hand 
to  Sergeant  Lefebvre. 

"  Ill-feeling  ?  No,  surely  not,  mademoiselle  !  Yet  I 
ask  your  pardon  once  more.  That  which  has  just 
passed,  perhaps  you  will  have  noticed,  is  a  little  the 
fault  of  my  comrades.  It  was  Bernadotte,  whom  you 
see  there,  that  pushed  me  to  it.  And  I  got  simply  what 
I  deserved." 

While  Lefebvre  was  offering  his  excuses,  as  best  he 
could,  the  girl  interrupted  him  and  said  bluntly,  "  By 
your  accent  one  would  take  you  for  an  Alsatian." 

"  Born  a  native  of  the  Upper-Rhine — at  Ruffach,"  was 
the  response. 

"  Heavens,  what  luck  !  I  am  from  St.  Amarin,"  was 
the  girl's  rejoinder. 

'*  You  are  my  country-woman,  then." 

"  And  you  my  countryman.  How  people  do  find 
each  other,  eh  ?  " 

'*  And  you  are  called  ?  " 

"  Catharine  Upscher,  laundress — Rue  Royal — at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  Orties-Saint-HonoreV' 

"  And  I  am  Lefebvre,  ex-sergeant  of  the  guards  ;  but 
now  in  the  militia." 

"  Later,  countryman,  we  will,  if  you  choose,  learn 
more  of  each  other  ;  but  at  this  moment  the  fricassee 
calls  us." 

And,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  she  led  him  into  the 
maze  of  the  dancers. 


8  gfladatiw  j$Htt0-<$*»*. 

As  she  danced  past  a  young  man  with  a  pale,  almost 
wan  face,  who  wore  his  long  hair  down  over  his  dog- 
like eyes,  whose  bearing  was  quiet  and  crafty,  and  whose 
long  coat  looked  like  a  cassock,  he  said  haughtily, 
"  What !     Catharine  among  the  guards  ?  " 

"  You  know  this  Catharine  ?  "  asked  Sergeant  Berna- 
dotte,  who  had  heard  the  remark. 

"  Oh,  in  all  faith,  all  honor  ! "  replied  the  clerical- 
looking  youth  ;  "  she  is  my  laundress.  A  good  girl, 
worthy,  proper,  virtuous — with  open  heart,  and  ready 
tongue.  Throughout  the  quarter  she  is  called  for  her 
frank  speech  and  emphatic  ways,  '  Mile.  Sans-G€ne.'  " 

The  music  of  the  orchestra  grew  louder,  and  the  rest 
of  the  conversation  was  lost  in  the  wild  tumult  of  the 
fricassfee. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PREDICTION. 

The  dance  ended,  Sergeant  Lefebvre  conducted  his 
countrywoman  to  her  place.  Peace  had  been  estab- 
lished. They  talked  like  two  old  acquaintances  and 
walked  arm  in  arm  like  lovers. 

Lefebvre,  to  insure  the  continuance  of  amity,  pro- 
posed taking  some  refreshments. 

"  Agreed,"  said  Catharine.  "  Oh,  I  do  not  stand  on 
ceremony.  You  seem  to  me  a  good  sort  of  fellow ; 
and,  faith,  I  shall  not  refuse  your  polite  offer,  especially 
**  the  fricassee  makes  one  thirsty.     Let  us  sit  here." 


gjftadam*  jSanje-dSm.  9 

They  took  their  places  at  one  of  the  tables  which 
stood  about  the  room. 

Lefebvre  seemed  quite  charmed  at  the  turn  things 
had  taken.  He  had,  nevertheless,  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion before  seating  himself. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  Catharine,  brusque- 

»y. 

"  Look  you,  mam'zelle,  it  is  this,"  he  answered,  some- 
what embarrassed,  "  we  are  not  accustomed  among  the 
guards,  nor  yet  in  the  militia,  to  act  like  Switzers." 

"Oh,  I  understand — your  comrades.  Well,  ask  them. 
Do  you  want  me  to  call  them  ?  " 

And  without  waiting  his  permission  she  rose, 
mounted  a  green  wooden  bench  which  stood  beside  the 
table,  and  making  a  speaking  trumpet  of  her  hands, 
called  to  the  three  guards  who  stood  at  a  distance, 
looking  with  something  of  amusement  at  the  sport  of 
the  couple. 

"  Ohe  !  lads — come  over  here  !  We  will  not  eat  you  ! 
Besides,  to  watch  others  drinking  gives  one  the  blues." 

The  three  guards  found  no  difficulty  in  answering 
the  familiar  invitation. 

"What !  Not  going,  Bernadotte  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
guards  of  the  sergeant  who  lingered  behind. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  the  citizen,"  answered  Berna- 
dotte, in  a  cross  tone,  jealous  of  the  ascendancy  of 
a  comrade,  and  wishing,  despite  the  evident  success 
Lefebvre  had  scored  with  the  pretty  laundress,  to  hold 
himself  aloof  and  affect  to  converse  with  the  young 
man  with  the  long  frock  and  dog-like  eyes. 


io  pladame  £nn$-(&tnt. 

"  Oh,  the  citizen  isn't  in  the  way,"  cried  Catharine  ; 
*'  I  know  him,  and  he  knows  me.  Well  I  is  it  not  so, 
Citizen  Fouche*  ?  " 

So  called,  the  young  man  came  toward  the  table  on 
which  Lefebvre  had  ordered  warm  wines  and  pastry 
to  be  served  ;  and  said,  as  he  greeted  them,  "  Since 
Mademoiselle  Catharine  desires  it,  I  come.  We  will  be 
seated.  I  love  to  find  myself  among  the  valiant  de- 
fenders of  the  city." 

The  four  guards  and  the  citizen  called  Fouch6 
seated  themselves  ;  and,  glasses  having  been  filled,  they 
drank  together. 

Catharine  and  Lefebvre,  who  had  already  attempted 
several  quiet  gallantries,  drank,  unnoticed,  from  the 
same  glass. 

Lefebvre,  growing  bolder,  now  endeavored  to  snatch 
a  kiss. 

Catharine  drew  back. 

"  Not  that,  countryman  !  "  she  said.  «•  I  will  laugh 
gayly  with  you  ;  but  no  more." 

"  You  scarce  looked  for  modesty  in  a  washerwoman, 
soldier,  did  you  ?  "  said  Fouche\  "  Ah  1  in  such  mat- 
ters she  is  not  complaisant  at  anytime,  our  Mile.  Sans- 
G£ne." 

"  Speak  up,  Citizen  Fouche\"  said  Catharine  quickly  ; 
"  you  know  me,  for  I  do  your  laundry-work — in  the 
three  months  since  you  came  from  Nantes,  is  there  any 
one  dare  say  anything  against  me  ?  " 

**  No — nothing — absolutely  nothing  !  " 

"  I  will  consent  to  play  thus ;  to  dance  a  fricassee  at 


times  ;  even  to  drink  with  such  good  lads  as  you  seem 
to  be ;  but  no  one  in  the  quarter,  or  elsewhere,  mark 
you,  dare  boast  that  he  has  crossed  the  threshold  of  my 
chamber.  My  work-room  is  open  to  all  the  world  ;  but 
to  my  bed-chamber  but  one  shall  have  the  key  !  " 

"  And  who  may  that  lucky  fellow  be  ? "  asked  Le- 
febvre,  twirling  his  moustache. 

"My  husband,"  was  Catharine's  haughty  reply  ;  and 
clicking  her  glass  against  Lefebvre's  she  added,  laugh- 
ing, "  Then,  being  married,  countryman,  what  have 
you  to  say  ?  " 

"  That  it  were  not  so  ill  for  him,  in  such  a  case,"  re- 
plied the  sergeant,  still  caressing  his  moustache.  "  To 
your  health,  mam'zelle  1 " 

-  To  yours,  citizen,  and  to  the  fulfilment  of  your 
wishes." 

And  they  all  drank  gayly,  laughing  merrily  at  the 
light  sally. 

At  that  moment,  a  singular  figure  wearing  a  pointed 
cap,  and  dressed  in  a  long  black  robe,  spangled  with 
silver  stars  and  blue  crescents,  and  long-tailed  comets, 
glided  among  the  tables  like  a  spectre. 

•'  Look  !  it  is  Fortunatus  !  "  cried  Bernadotte.  "  It 
is  the  magician.  Who  wants  to  have  his  fortune 
told  ? " 

Every  dance,  in  those  days,  had  its  sorcerer,  or  its 
reader  of  cards,  predicting  the  future  and  revealing  the 
past,  for  the  sum  of  five  sous. 

In  the  confusion  of  a  period  such  as  that  which  pre- 
ceded the  tenth  of  August,  when  an  old  social  order 


12  Padam*  £m$-(&tnt. 

disappeared  entirely  to  give  place  to  a  new,  in  a  change 
whose  rapidity  was  almost  fairy-like,  a  belief  in  the 
marvellous  was,  naturally,  prevalent. 

Cagliostro  and  his  glass,  Mesmer  and  his  trough, 
had  quite  upset  the  heads  of  the  aristocracy.  Popular 
credulity  was  given  to  the  soothsayers  of  the  cross- 
roads, and  to  the  astrologers  of  the  taverns. 

Catharine  burned  to  know  the  future.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  her  meeting  with  the  handsome  sergeant 
would  in  some  way  alter  her  life. 

Just  as  she  was  about  to  ask  Lefebvre  to  call  Fortu- 
natus  and  question  him  for  her,  the  magician  turned 
to  answer  a  group  of  three  young  men  at  an  opposite 
table.  _     . 

M  Let  us  hear  what  he  says  to  them,"  whispered 
Catharine,  indicating  their  neighbors. 

"I  know  one  of  them,"  said  Bernadotte,  "he  is 
called  Andoche  Junot.  He  is  a  Burgundian.  I  met 
him  frequently  in  the  battalion  of  the  Cot6-d'Or." 

"  The  second  is  an  aristocrat,"  said  Lefebvre  ;  "he  is 
called  Pierre  de  Marmont  He,  also,  is  a  Burgundian, 
and  comes  from  Chatillon." 

"  And  the  third  ?"  asked  Fouche\  "the  lean  young 
man  with  the  olive  complexion  and  hollow  eyes?  I 
I  have  seen   him  before.     But  where  ?  " 

"In  my  Work-room,  doubtless,"  said  Catharine, 
blushing  slightly  ;  "  he  is  an  artillery  officer  who  has 
laid  down  his  commission — he  expects  an  appoint- 
ment—he lives  near  me,  at  the  Hdtel  des  Patriotes,  in 
the  Rue  Royal-Saint-Roch." 


"  A  Corsican  ?  "  asked  Fouche\  "  They  all  live  at 
that  hotel.  He  has  a  strange  name,  that  client  of  yours 
— Berna — Buna — Bina — no,  that's  not  it,"  cried  he,  try- 
ing to  find  the  name  which  had  escaped  him. 

"  Bonaparte,"  said  Catharine. 

"  Yes,  that's  it — Bonaparte — Timoleon,  I  think." 

"  Napoleon,"  answered  Catharine,  "  he  is  a  wise 
youth,  and,  one  who  impresses  every  one  who  meets 
him." 

"  He  has  a  strange  name,  this  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
and  a  melancholy  air.  Ah,  if  he  should  ever  attain  to 
anything  he  ought  to  change  that  name,"  muttered 
Fouch6  ;  adding,  "  Listen  !  The  magician  is  speaking 
to  them.     What  can  he  be  saying  to  them  ?  " 

The  four  young  men  grew  silent  and  pricked  their 
ears,  while  Catharine,  grown  suddenly  serious,  im- 
pressed by  the  presence  of  the  sorcerer,  whispered  to 
Lefebvre  :  "  I  wish  he  would  predict  good  luck  for 
Bonaparte.  He's  such  a  deserving  young  man  :  He 
supports  his  four  brothers  and  his  sisters,  yet  he  is  far 
from  rich.  I've  never  been  able  to  present  him  a  bill  ; 
though  he  owes  me  for  several  washings,"  she  added, 
with  the  air  of  an  alarmed  merchant. 

Fortunatus,  meantime,  balancing  his  pointed  hat, 
read,  gravely,  the  hand  which  the  young  man  whom 
Bernadotte  had  called  Junot,  extended  to  him. 

"  Thou,"  he  said,  in  a  deep  voice,  "  thy  career 
shall  be  bright  and  well-rounded — thou  shalt  be  the 
friend  of  a  great  man — shalt  share  in  his  glory— on 
thy  head  shall  rest  a  ducal  crown— thou  wilt  triumph 
in  the  South." 


14  §ftaflame  gM$-(&tnt. 

"  Bravo  1  I  am  really  already  half  a  soldier.  Thou 
art  consoling,  friend  !  But  tell  me,  after  so  much  good 
fortune,  how  shall  I  die  !  " 

«•  Madman,"  said  the  sorcerer  in  a  hollow  voice. 

*'  The  devil  !  The  beginning  of  thy  prophecy  was 
worth  more  than  the  end,"  cried  the  second,  laughing. 
It  was  he  whom  Bernadotte  had  called  Marmont. 
"  Dost  predict  insanity  for  me,  too  ?" 

•» No  !  Thou  shalt  live  for  the  ruin  of  the  country, 
and  to  thine  own  shame.  After  a  life  of  glory  and 
honor,  thou  wilt  abandon  thy  master,  betray  thy  country, 
and  thy  name  shall  be  synonymous  with  that  of  Judas." 

"  Thou  favorest  me  greatly  in  thy  prediction,"  said 
Marmont,  with  a  sneer.  "  What  wilt  thou  tell  our  com- 
rade ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  young  artillery  officer  in  whom 
Catharine  was  so  much  interested.  But  he,  drawing 
his  hand  back  quickly,  said  gruffly:  "  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  told  the  future.  I  know  it."  And,  turning  to 
his  friends,  he  pointed  above  the  wall  that  enclosed 
the  Vaux-Hall,  to  where  the  sky  showed  through  the 
tent-covering  of  the  dancing-hall. 

"  Do  you  see  that  star  up  there  ?  "  he  said  in  a  ringing 
voice.  "  No  ?  You  see  it  not  !  Well,  I  can  see  it.  It 
is  my  star." 

The  magician  had  moved  on.  Catharine  motioned 
to  him  ;  he  approached  the  group,  and,  looking  at 
two  of  the  guards,  said  to  them  :  "  Profit  by  your 
youth.     Your  days  are  numbered." 

"  And  where  are  we  to  die  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  young 


Padame  $M$-(&tnt.  15 

<nen,  destined  to  fall  among  the  heroes  who   died  for 
Jiberty,  shot  down  by  the  Swiss  Guards. 

"  On  the  steps   of  a  palace." 

"  What  grandeur  !  "  cried  Bernadotte,  "  dost  thou  see 
for  me,  too,  a  tragic  death  and  a  palace  ?  " 

•*  No,  thy  death  will  be  peaceful :  thou  shalt  occupy 
a  throne,  and  after  disowning  thy  colors  and  fighting 
thy  comrades-in-arms,  thou  shalt  lie  in  a  foreign  tomb, 
beside  a  frozen  ocean." 

"  If  my  comrades  take  everything,  what  will  be  left 
for  me  ?  "  asked  Lefebvre. 

"  Thou,  "  said  Fortunatus,  "  shalt  marry  the  lady  of 
thy  heart,  thou  shalt  command  a  formidable  army,  and 
thy  name  shall  ever  stand  for  bravery  and  loyalty." 

"  And  I,  Sir  Magician,"  said  Catharine,  frightened, 
perhaps,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 

"  You,  mademoiselle,  will  be  the  wife  of  him  you 
love — you  will  be  a  duchess." 

"  Then  I'll  have  to  become  a  duke — a  generalship 
will  not  suffice  me,"  exclaimed  Lafebvre  gayly.  "  Ah, 
sorcerer,  finish  thy  prophecy.  Tell  me  that  I  shall 
marry  Catharine,  and  that  together  we  shall  become 
duke  and  duchess  !  " 

But  Fortunatus  had  passed  on,  slowly,  among  the 
smiling  men  and  attentive  women. 

"Well,  really,"  said  Fouche",  "  this  magician  is  not 
inventive.  He  predicted  great  destinies  for  you  all  ; 
but  to  me  he  said  nothing.  Am  I  then  to  be  a  nobody  ?  " 

"  You  have  been  made  curate,"  said  Catharine. 
**  What  would  you  like  to  become  ?  " 


1 6  $R»flame  £m$-(&tnt. 

"  I  was  simply  a  reader,  my  dear.  At  present  I  am 
a  patriot,  an  enemy  of  tyrants.  What  I'd  like  to  be- 
come ?   Oh,  that  is  simple  enough — Minister  of  Police." 

"  You  may  get  there.  You  are  such  a  very  devil 
and  so  conversant  with  everything  that  goes  on, 
Citizen  Fouche\"  retorted  Catharine. 

"  Yes  ;  I  shall  be  chief  of  police  when  you  are  a 
■duchess,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  strange  smile  that  lit  up 
his  sad  countenance  and  softened  his  fierce  profile. 

The  ball  was  over.  The  four  young  men  rose  gayly 
and  moved  on,  laughing  at  the  sorcerer  and  his  magic. 

Catharine  took  the  arm  of  Lefebvre,  who  had  obtained 
leave  to  escort  her  to  the  door  of  her  work-room. 

Before  them  walked  their  three  neighbors,  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  a  little  apart  from  his  two  friends,  Junot  and 
Marmont.  He  spoke  but  little,  and  was  grave  and  re- 
served ;  now  and  again,  however,  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
the  blue  firmament  above  as  if  seeking  for  that  star  of 
-which  he  had  spoken,  and  which  shone  for  him  alone. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   LAST   NIGHT   OF   ROYALTY. 

The  tenth  of  August  was  a  Friday. 

The  night  between  the  ninth  and  tenth  was  mild, 
starry,  serene.  At  midnight  the  moon  shed  its  pure 
lustre  on  the  town,  apparently  calm,  peaceful  and 
slumbering. 


Padam*  £m$-<&tuf,  17 

Paris,  meantime,  had  slept  for  a  fortnight  past  with 
one  eye  open,  with  hand  on  sword,  ready  to  rise  at  the 
first  alarm. 

Since  that  night  when  Lefebvre  had  met  the  laundress 
Catharine  at  Vaux-Hall  the  city  had  become  a  furnace. 
The  revolution  boiled  as  in  a  mighty  cauldron. 

The  Marseilles  troops*  had  come,  filling  the  streets 
and  the  clubs  with  their  ardor,  their  fiery  patriotism 
and  martial  force.  They  had  given  to  the  echoes  the 
immortal  hymn  of  the  army  of  the  Rhine,  the  result  of 
the  inspired  genius  and  throbbing  heart  of  Rouget  de 
Lisle.  They  had  brought  it  to  the  Parisians,  who, 
instead  of  calling  this  song,  which  was  to  be  always  a 
national  one,  "La  Frangaise,"  gave  it,  generously,  the 
name  of  "  La  Marseillaise." 

Court  and  people  prepared  for  the  fray,  and  for  a 
great  day's  work.  The  nobles  barricaded  the  palace 
of  the  Tuileries  and  established  there  a  garrison  of 
Swiss  Guards,  commanded  by  Courbevoie  and  De 
Rueil  ;  convened  all  the  high-born  fanatics  who  had 
been  styled,  after  that  banquet  of  October,  when  the 
national  cockade  had  been  trampled  under  foot,  the 
"Chevaliers  du  Poignard." 

That  great  day  which  marks  the  first  victory  of  the 
Revolution  and  the  dawn  of  the  Republic  (for  the 
twenty-second  of  September  served  only  to  proclaim 
and  legalize  the  triumphant  action  of  the  tenth  of 
August),  no  man  could  boast  of  having  organized, 
commanded,  or  directed  it. 

Danton  slept  with  Camille  Desmoulins  while  they 
2 


18  Padame  JtattMfott. 

searched  for  him  to  bring  him  to  the  tribune.  Marat 
slept  in  his  cave.  Robespierre  lived  apart — he  was 
only  chosen  as  the  eleventh  member  of  the  Commune. 
Barbaroux  had  declined  the  honor  of  leading  the  Mar- 
seillais,  and  Santerre,  the  great  agitator  of  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Antoine,  figured  in  the  fight  only  in  the 
middle  of  the  day. 

The  nameless  insurrection  of  August  10,  a  battle 
without  a  commander-in-chief,  had  for  its  general  the 
mob,  and  for  heroes  all  the  nation. 

The  movement  did  not  begin  until  after  midnight  on 
that  radiant  night  of  the  ninth. 

The  emissaries  of  the  forty-seven  sections  had  de- 
manded the  downfall  of  royalty — one,  the  Mauconseil 
section,  having  voted — tramped  silently  about  the 
streets  transmitting  from  door  to  door  this  order  : 

"  To  arms  when  you  hear  the  tocsin  sound  and  fight 
fiercely." 

Within  an  hour  the  tocsin  was  heard  in  various 
places.  The  clock  of  St.  Germain-d'Auxerrois,  which 
had  chimed  for  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,, 
sounded  the  doom  of  monarchy. 

At  the  peal  of  the  drums,  beating  the  call  to  arms, 
Paris  arose,  grasped  its  guns,  and  rubbed  its  sleepy 
eyes. 

The  moon  was  set.  Shadow  wrapped  the  town. 
But  in  every  window,  one  after  another,  lights  ap- 
peared. This  sudden  illumination  as  for  a  fgte  had  a 
sinister  omen. 

A  strange  dawn,  in   which  the  smoke  of  battle,  the 


Padanw  $att0-©etw.  19 

blaze  of  burning  buildings,  and  reek  of  blood,  almost 
obscured  the  sun. 

The  city  gates  opened  one  by  one  to  admit 
armed  men,  who  passed  through  them,  questioned  the 
sky,  and  pricked  their  ears,  listening  for  the  approach 
of  their  own  sections,  that  they  might  enter  the 
ranks.  They  watched  the  daylight  coming  up  over  the 
roofs. 

The  call  to  arms  was  heard  in  the  streets  and  in  the 
lanes.  In  the  courts  sounded  the  rattling  of  batteries 
that  were  being  dragged  to  position,  the  metallic  ring 
of  the  bayonets,  whose  sockets  men  tried,  and  the  click 
of  sabres  and  pikes. 

The  houses  near  the  Tuileries  had  all  their  shutters 
thrown  back  and  several  shops,  even,  were  open. 

Mademoiselle  Sans-Gfine  was  by  no  means  the  last 
to  put  her  nose  out.  Dressed  in  a  short  petticoat,  with 
only  a  light  covering  over  her  beating  heart,  and  with 
a  dainty  nightcap  on  her  head,  she  listened  at  the 
window  to  the  sounds  of  the  night,  heard  the  drum,  and 
distinguished  the  tocsin.  Hastening  into  her  work- 
room to  strike  a  light,  she  then  cautiously  half-opened 
the  door. 

The  Rue  Royal-Saint-Roch,  where  the  washer- 
woman's house  was  situated,  was  now  empty. 

Catharine  stopped,  looked,  listened.  It  was  not  only 
curiosity  which  made  her  so  keen  for  a  sight  of  the 
troops  in  arms. 

She  was  a  good  patriot,  Sans-Gfine,  but  another 
sentiment  than  hate  of  the  tyrant  animated  her  now. 


20  Padam*  £att0-$m. 

After  the  fricassee  dance  at  Vaux-Hall,  she  had 
seen  Sergeant  Lefebvre  again. 

They  had  grown  to  know  each  other  better.  At  a 
small  party  at  La  Rap6e,  whither  he  had  without  much 
difficulty  induced  her  to  go,  they  had  exchanged 
vows  and  talked  over  projects.  The  ex-sergeant  had 
become  rather  familiar  ;  but  Catharine  had  told  him  so 
plainly  that  she  would  never  give  herself  to  any  one, 
save  as  a  wife,  that  the  sergeant  had  ended  by  asking 
her  to  marry  him. 

She  had  accepted. 

"  We  have  not  much,"  she  had  said  gayly,  "to  begin 
housekeeping  on.  I  have  my  laundry,  where  bad  debts 
are  never  lacking." 

"  And  I  have  my  commission  ;  and  a  soldier's  pay  is 
often  in  arrears." 

"  Never  mind  !  we  are  young,  we  love  each  other, 
and  have  the  future  before  us.  The  sorcerer  promised 
me  the  other  day,  did  he  not,  that  I  should  be  a 
dychess  ?  " 

«*  And  did  he  not  say  I  should  be  a  general  ?  " 

"  He  said,  besides,  you  should  marry  her  you  love." 

"  Well,  let  us  realize  the  beginning  of  his  augury,  at 
once." 

"  Oh,  you  are  impatient;  I  cannot  marry  at  once. 
/  must  prepare." 

'*  Then  let  us  fix  a  date,  Catharine." 

"  At  the  fall  of  the  tyrant,  if  you  like." 

"  Yes,  that  suits  me  :  I  abhor  tyrants — look, 
Catharine,  at  this  1 " 


Turning  back  his  sleeve,  Lefebvre  showed  her 
his  right  arm  superbly  tattooed — two  sabres  crossed 
with  a  grenade  in  flames,  surmounted  by  the  words, 
"  Death  to  tyrants  !  " 

"  Hem  !  I  am  a  patriot,"  he  said  proudly,  holding 
out  his  bare  arm  triumphantly. 

"  It  is  fine,"  said  Catharine,  with  conviction,  and  she 
put  out  her  hand  to  touch  it. 

"  Don't  touch  it,"  said  Lefebvre  quickly  ;  "  it  is  quite 
fresh." 

Catharine  had  drawn  back  her  hand,  afraid  of  injur- 
ing such  fine  work. 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  It  will  not  hurt  the  color  ;  but  it 
must  dry.  Listen  !  in  a  few  days,  you  shall  have  some- 
thing better  than  this." 

"  What  ?  "      Catharine  had  asked  curiously. 

"  My  wedding  gift,"  had  been  the  mysterious  answer. 

He  had  not  wanted  to  say  more,  and  having  drunk 
gayly  at  the  tavern,  to  the  fall  of  the  tyrant  and  their 
approaching  wedding,  which  should  follow  upon  it, 
Catharine  and  her  lover  had  taken  the  Charenton 
diligence  to  the  Rue  Bouloi,  thence  had  proceeded  on 
foot,  under  the  keen  eyes  of  the  stars,  to  the  Rue 
Royal-Saint-Roch,  where,  gaining  her  own  door,  the 
young  girl,  to  avoid  a  tender  parting,  closed  it  quickly 
in  the  sergeant's  face,  crying  : 

"  Good-night,  Lefebvre.  Here  you  may  enter  when, 
you  are  my  husband.'' 

Since  then,  every  moment  which  he  could  spare 
from  his   duties,  Lefebvre   had   spent   in   seeking    the 


22  gftadam*  £m$-(&tut. 

laundry,  and  passing  a  few  moments  with  his  country- 
woman. 

They  had  both  begun  to  feel  that  the  tyrant  took 
rather  long  to  die.  Thus  it  was  natural  that  Catharine 
should  look,  with  the  twofold  impatience  of  a  good 
patriot  and  a  girl  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage,  for  that 
dawn  of  the  tenth  of  August. 

The  tocsin,  flinging  its  funereal  notes  on  the  night  air, 
sounded  at  the  Tuileries  the  De  Profundis  of  royalty, 
and  for  the  little  laundress,  the  "  Alleluia"  of  marriage. 

Two  neighbors  in  night  array,  had  imitated  Cath- 
arine, and  stood  by  their  doors  waiting  for  news. 

■*  Is  there  any  news,  Mam'zelle  Sans-GSne  ?  "  asked 
one  of  them,  across  the  street. 

"  I  am  waiting,  neighbor.  Listen  !  Have  patience, 
and  we  shall  know  all." 

Breathless  with  his  quick  run,  Lefebvre  equipped 
and  armed,  now  entered  from  the  Rue  Saint-Honore\  de- 
posited his  gun  beside  the  door,  and  caught  the  laun- 
dress in  an  impassioned  embrace. 

"  Ah,  my  good  Catharine,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  !  It 
is  warm  already.  It  is  going  to  be  warmer.  The 
motto  for  to-day  is,  «  Long  live  the  nation.'  " 

The  neighbors,  who  now  timidly  approached,  asked 
what  had  passed. 

"  Well,"  said  Lefebvre,  striking  an  attitude,  like  one 
who  had  come  to  read  a  proclamation  ;  **  I  must  tell 
you,  first,  that  they  wanted  to  assassinate  the  good  M. 
P6tion,  the  mayor  of  Paris." 

An  indignant  murmur  rose  from  his  audience. 


Paitome  £att$-<5m.  23 

•<  What  has  been  done  with  the  tyrant  ?  "  asked  one. 

"  They  have  held  him  as  hostage.  Picture  to  your- 
selves the  palace  as  a  veritable  fortress — the  windows 
boarded  up,  the  doors  barricaded.  The  Swiss  Guards 
are  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  with  them  are  those  villains, 
the  Chevaliers  du  Poignard,  .traitors,  friends  of  the 
strangers — they  are  sworn  to  kill  the  patriots.  Oh,  let 
but  one  fall  into  my  hands  in  the  day  that  is  coming, 
and  I'll  settle  his  account  quickly,"  cried  Lefebvre,  with 
almost  savage  energy. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Catharine  ;  "  there  aren't  any  Chev- 
aliers du  Poignard  here,  and  I  doubt  if  you'll  find  any 
on  the  road  ;  now  tell  us  what  happened  to  M.  PStion." 

"Called  before  the  Assembly — there,  at  least,  he  is 
safe — Oh,  he  escaped." 

"  Have  they  done  any  fighting  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  only  one  man  has  been  killed — Mandat,  the 
commander  of  the  National  Guards." 

"  Your  chief!     He  was  of  the  Swiss  faction  ?  " 

*'  He  was  on  their  side.  There  was  found,  over  his 
signature,  an  order  to  shoot  the  patriots  from  the 
suburbs  behind,  when  they  reached  the  Pont-Neuf 
to  join  their  comrades  from  Saint-Marceau  and 
Saint-Victor  ;  but  the  treason  was  discovered.  The 
traitor,  called  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  explain  himself, 
was  finished  by  a  pistol-shot  from  among  the  crowd. 
Nothing  can  now  impede  the  onward  march  of  the  sec- 
tions. To-night,  Catharine,  we  will  win,  and  within 
eight  hours  we  will  marry.  Hold  !  My  wedding  gift 
■ — I  promised  it  to  you." 


24  Padam*  £m#-(&tue. 

And,  before  the  somewhat  embarrassed  neighbors,  he 
bared  his  left  arm,  showing  a  second  tattooing,  repre- 
senting two  hearts  aflame. 

"Look,"  he  said,  "what  is  written  here:  To  Cath- 
arine, for  life  ! " 

He  stepped  back,  to  give  them  a  better  view  of  the 
design. 

"  It  is  fine — much  finer  than  the  other,"  said  Cath- 
arine, crimson  with  pleasure,  and  she  clung  to  the 
sergeant's  neck,  murmuring,  "  Oh,  my  own  Lefebvre, 
thou  art  so  handsome,  and  I  love  thee  so  much  ! " 

At  this  moment,  shots  rent  the  heavy  air  from  afar — 
cannon  answered. 

"Away!  Catharine!  I  must  go  where  duty,  calls  ; 
be  calm  ;  we  shall  return  victorious,"  cried  Lefebvre 
joyously. 

And,  as  he  picked  up  his  gun,  he  embraced  her  again, 
and  hurried  off  in  the  direction  of  the  Tuileries. 

The  Swiss  had  fired  upon  a  poorly-armed  crowd, 
who  now  held  parley  with  them.  Corpses  already 
covered  the  vestibule  of  the  Tuileries  and  the  three 
courts  of  the  Carrousel. 

But  the  cannon  of  the  patriots  had  sent  their  missiles 
to  signify  to  royalty  its  end. 

Louis  XVI.  had  sought  refuge  in  the  National  Assem- 
bly, which  had  again  met  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  at 
the  sound  of  the  tocsin.  While  awaiting  developments, 
the  legislators,  under  the  presidency  of  Vergniaud,  had 
discussed  the  abolition  of  the  negro  trade.     The  sacred 


iftadam*  £att0-<$*tw.  25 

cause  of  human  liberty  had  that  day  been  defended  as 
a  whole,  without  distinction  of  race  or  color. 

The  journalistic  stenographer,  as  we  would  call  him. 
to-day,  related  that,  seated  in  his  corner,  the  royal 
blockhead  tranquilly  ate  a  peach,  deaf  to  the  belching 
of  the  cannon  which  was  to  shatter  his  throne,  incrJfc- 
ferent  to  the  fate  of  the  Swiss,  unmindful  of  the  nobles 
who  were  dying  for  him. 

It  was  a  great  day  !  The  last  night  of  royalty  was 
spent  and  the  Marsellais,  chanting  their  immortal 
hymn,  had  gone  forth  to  destroy  the  last  stronghold  of 
feudalism. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   CHEVALIER   DU   POIGNARD. 

It  was  noon  ere  the  cannon  had  ceased  to  roar  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Tuileries.  Confused  murmurs 
arose,  among  which  one  could  vaguely  distinguish 
cries  of  "  Victory  !     Victory  !  " 

Heavy  clouds  floated  over  the  houses  ;  while  sparks 
and  scraps  of  burning  paper  and  cloth,  whirled  about 
and  fell  in  the  streets. 

Many  were  the  changes  of  fortune  on  that  ever- 
memorable  day. 

The  sections  had  each  named  three  emissaries,  who- 
were  to  form  the  Commune  of  Paris.  P6tion,  the 
mayor,  called  to  the  H6tel  de  Ville,  had  been  con- 
signed to  his  own  house,  to  be  set  at  liberty  at  the  end 


26  padame  gm$-(3tnt. 

of  the  insurrection.  Mandat,  found  guilty  of  treason, 
was  dead.  Santerre  had  been  named,  in  his  place, 
commander  of  the  National  Guards. 

The  arsenal  had  been  forced,  and  arms  distributed 
to  a  first  division  from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Antoine, 
who  had  come  to  put  themselves  under  orders. 

The  king,  after  reviewing  the  battalions  of  the 
National  Guards  required  for  the  defence  of  the  palace, 
had  re-entered  his  apartments  sadly.  The  Petits  Peres, 
and  the  Butte-du-Moulins  were  the  only  ones  who  had 
hailed  him.  The  others  had  shouted  "  Long  live  the 
nation  !  Down  with  the  '  Veto  '  !  "  and  the  cannoneers 
had  turned  their  pieces  so  that  they  threatened  the 
palace. 

Louis  XVI.  saw  that  he  was  lost,  and  felt  his  power 
and  his  glory  vanish.  He  went  to  demand  safety  of 
the  National  Assembly,  whose  executive  hall,  at  that 
time,  was  at  the  "  Marege,"  near  the  garden  of  the 
Tuileries,  and  on  the  right  of  it,  where  to-day,  in  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli,  stands  the  H6tel  Continental.  Three 
hundred  National  Guards  and  three  hundred  Swiss 
escorted  him. 

There  were,  in  all,  nine  hundred  and  fifty  Swiss,  well- 
armed  and  well-disciplined.  Most  of  them  spoke  only 
German.  These  household  troops,  attached  to  the 
person  of  the  king,  faithful,  to  the  full  measure  of  their 
honor,  in  loyalty  and  affection,  had  decided  to  die  for 
the  master  for  whom  they  had  enlisted,  and  who  paid 
them. 

Ignorant  of  the  situation,  the  Swiss  Guards,  deceived 


Padame  gnn$-<Stm.  27 

by  their  captains,  and  excited  by  the  Chevaliers  du 
Poignard,  believed,  even  at  the  dawn  of  the  tenth  of 
August,  that  they  were  employed  to  defend  the  king's 
person  against  brigands,  who  came  to  kill  him.  Many, 
as  one  of  their  colonels,  M.  Pfyffer,  testified,  were 
astounded  and  frightened  when  they  beheld,  instead  of 
a  popular  raid  on  the  palace,  the  advance  of  the 
National  Guards. 

The  uniform  confused  them.  They  thought  to  have 
only  the  popular  uprising,  against  whose  ugliness  all 
good  citizens  would  protest,  and  they  saw,  instead,  an 
armed  and  organized  nation  advancing  against  them. 

One  might  have  thought  that  blood  would  have  been 
spared,  when  the  retreat  of  Louis  XVI.  had  been  accom- 
plished, had  not  one  of  those  terrible  accidents  which 
moments  of  confusion  are  apt  to  produce,  given  the 
signal  for  a  pitiless  massacre. 

The  Marsellais  and  Bretons,  having  as  commander, 
a  friend  of  Danton's,  one  Westermann,  an  Alsatian  ; 
once  an  under-officer,  and  an  energetic  soldier,  had 
penetrated  the  courts  of  the  palace.  It  had  three,  at 
that  time,  and  the  Carrousel,  much  more  limited  then 
than  to-day,  was  covered  with  houses. 

Westermann  had  arranged  his  troops  in  line  of  battle. 
The  Swiss  were  posted  in  the  windows  of  the  palace, 
ready  to  fire. 

They  watched  each  other.  Westermann  spoke  a 
few  words,  in  German,  to  the  Swiss,  to  dissuade  them 
from  firing  on  the  people,  and  to  encourage  them  to 
fraternize. 


28  Padam*  ^attf-G&en*. 

Already,  some  of  those  unfortunate  mercenaries  had 
thrown  their  cartridges  through  the  windows,  in  sign 
of  disarming. 

The  patriots,  encouraged  and  reassured  by  these 
demonstrations  of  peace,  were  lounging  under  the 
vestibule  of  the  palace. 

A  barrier  had  been  placed  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  of 
the  great  stairway,  leading  to  the  chapel. 

On  each  step  two  Switzers  mounted  guard,  one  be- 
side the  wall,  the  other  by  the  banisters  ;  they  stood, 
motionless,  silent,  and  stern,  gun  in  position,  ready  to 
fire. 

What  with  their  tall  stature,  their  fur  caps,  and  their 
red  uniforms,  these  mountaineers  in  regimentals  were 
an  imposing  sight,  and  one  that  might  well  inspire  fear. 

But  there  were  none  but  the  confederate  Marsellais 
and  Bretons  in  that  crowd.  The  scum  of  the  streets 
were  crowding  round.  Ruffians  can  be  found  at  all 
times  and  in  all  places  :  one  is  sure  to  find  them  well 
up  in  front,  on  the  days  of  fighting,  on  the  morning  of 
an  execution,  or  on  the  enemy  after  a  battle. 

Some  of  those  clownish  Parisians  thought  to  draw 
toward  them,  with  hooks  and  pikes,  two  or  three  of 
the  most  steadfast  of  the  Swiss. 

The  men  thus  caught  allowed  themselves  to  be 
easily  snared,  content  to  escape  a  possible  brawl,  and 
believing  themselves  outnumbered. 

This  sport  of  fishing  for  the  Swiss  was  being  con- 
tinued, amid  shouts  of  laughter  from  the  bystanders, 
when  suddenly,  without  any  one's  being  able  to  place 


Padame  £att!S-$m.  29 

its  source,  a  volley  of  projectiles  was  launched  upon  the 
inoffensive,  amused  but  not  threatening  crowd. 

The  correct  theory  is  supposed  to  be  this,  that  some 
nobles,  posted  on  the  upper  palisade,  seeing  the  trapped 
Swiss  yielding  without  resistance,  and  ready  to  frater- 
nize, suddenly  fired,  hoping  to  stop  the  defection  and 
create  a  bloody  breach  between  the  people  and  the 
guard. 

The  two  Swiss  now  among  the  people,  were  the  first 
to  be  struck  down. 

The  shot,  coolly  directed  by  the  defenders  of  the 
palace,  did  its  dreadful  work. 

In  a  moment  the  vestibule  was  full  of  corpses,  and 
blood  flowed  in  rivers  over  the  slabs. 

A  dense  smoke  enveloped  the  vestibule. 

At  the  signal  of  the  shots  from  within,  a  fusilade 
was  begun  above. 

The  Swiss  and  the  nobles,  many  of  whom  had  taken 
to  the  uniform  of  the  guard,  ran  to  the  shelter  of  the 
barricaded  windows. 

All  their  shots  told. 

The  courts  were  empty.  The  Carrousel  was  swept 
bare.  Then  the  Swiss  made  a  vigorous  sortie  as  far 
as  the  Rue  Saint-Honor6. 

But  the  Marsellais,  the  Bretons,  and  the  National 
Guards  returned  in  force,  with  cannon.  The  Swiss 
were  cut  off,  the  palace  was  invaded.  Nothing  could 
withstand  the  triumphant  crowd.  Most  of  the  Swiss 
were  slain  in  the  apartments,  or  in  the  gardens  ;  they 
were  pursued  even  to  the     Champs-Elysges.      Many 


30  Iftadame  gm$-(&m. 

owed  their  lives  to  the  victors,  who  defended  them 
against  the  violence  of  the  mob. 

The  king  had  given  directions  for  the  Swiss  to  cease 
firing.  He  had  given  the  order  to  M.  de  Hervilly,  but 
this  chief  of  the  Chevaliers  du  Poignard,  reserved  for 
himself  the  right  to  issue  it  when  he  thought  circum- 
stances warranted.  Like  the  queen,  he  believed  that 
the  power  remained  with  the  defenders  of  the  palace 
and  that  the  fire  of  the  Swiss  only  served  the  '*  rabble  " 
rightly.  When  he  saw  his  mistake,  it  was  too  late  : 
the  palace  was  in  the  hands  of  the  people,  and  the  king, 
a  prisoner  in  the  power  of  the  Assembly?  was  shortly 
incarcerated  in  the  Temple. 

Catharine,  who  feared  no  longer,  after  having  fol- 
lowed feelingly  the  beginning  of  the  engagement,  quite 
reassured,  and  not  minding  the  shots,  had  ventured 
forth  with  the  intention  of  reaching  the  Carrousel. 
She  wanted  to  see  if  the  tyrant  would  yield  with  a  good 
grace,  and  thus  hasten  her  nuptials.  And  besides, 
she  told  herself,  that,  perhaps,  among  the  combatants, 
she  could  see  her  dear  Lefebvre. 

This  idea  of  surprising  him,  black  with  powder, 
fighting  in  the  front  of  battle,  like  a  demon,  under  fire, 
far  from  making  her  afraid,  emboldened  her. 

She  wanted  to  be  near  him,  to  be  able  to  hand  him 
his  cartridges — more  than  that ;  she  wanted  to  grasp 
a  musket  herself,  load  it,  and  fire  on  the  defenders  of 
the  tyrant.  She  felt  within  her  the  soul  of  a  warrior, 
at  the  very  smell  of  the  powder.  She  wanted  to 
share  all  the   dangers  of  her  Lefebvre  ;  she  was  both 


Padam*  £m$-(&m.  31 

proud  and  a  little  jealous  of  the  glory  he  should 
gain. 

Not  once  did  it  occur  to  her  that  she  might  be  struck 
by  the  bullets  of  the  Swiss. 

Had  not  the  augury  foretold  that  he  should  command 
armies,  and  that  she  should  be  his  wife  ?  Neither  he 
nor  she  was  destined  to  die  that  day. 

Thus,  braving  peril,  she  advanced  ever  nearer  to  the 
cannoneers  and  the  Marseillais,  seeking  for  Lefebvre 
and  scorning  death. 

When  the  furious  fusilade  of  the  Swiss  began,  people 
had  flown  wildly  apart.  In  the  movement,  Catharine 
felt  herself  drawn  by  the  mass  of  fugitives  toward  the 
Rue  Saint-Honor^.  Arriving  opposite  her  room,  she 
returned  to  it,  believing  that  the  panic  might  spread 
that  far,  and  some  one  might  enter  her  dwelling. 

She  had  not  lost  all  hope,  but  she  began  to  fear  lest 
her  wedding  would  be  put  off. 

"  Ah,  those  men  !  They  haven't  even  the  heart  to 
slacken  their  pace,"  she  groaned,  as  she  stopped,  rag- 
ing, at  the  door  of  her  laundry.  "Oh  !  if  I  had  had  a 
musket,  I  should  have  remained  !  I  know  well  that 
Lefebvre  is  not  saved  !  " 

And,  feverishly,  impatiently,  she  kept  her  ears  pricked, 
listening  for  the  victory  for  which  she  waited. 

When  the  cannon  began  again  to  thunder  loudly,  she 
trembled  with  joy  and  shouted,  "  Ah  !  that  is  ours  ! 
Bravo  !  the  cannoneers  !  " 

Then  she  listened  again. 

The  cannon  shots  multiplied,  the  fusilade  increased  ; 


32  Padam*  JNtiHStttt* 

confused  cries  reached  her.  Surely  it  must  be  the 
patriots  advancing  !     They  had  the  victory  ! 

Ah  !  how  she  longed  to  see  her  Lefebvre  once  more 
safe  and  sound,  to  embrace  her  victor,  and  say  to  him, 

"  Can  we  be  married  at  once  ?  " 

She  came  and  went  feverishly  in  her  work-room, 
whose  shutters  she  had  prudently  left  closed. 

She  dared  not  give  way  to  her  desire  to  return  to  the 
scene  of  battle,  lest  Lefebvre  should  return  in  her  ab- 
sence. He  would  be  alarmed  and  would  not  know 
-where  to  look  for  her.  It  would  be  best  to  wait  for 
him.  He  must  surely  return  by  the  Rue  Royal-Saint- 
Roch  with  his  comrades  when  the  palace   was  taken. 

The  street  had  become  once  more  quiet  and  de- 
serted. 

The  neighbors  were  shut  in  their  houses. 

The  noon-hour  came.      She  heard  occasional  shots. 

Through  her  half-open  door  she  saw  from  afar,  on  the 
side  toward  the  Rue  Saint-Honor6,  flying  shadows,  pur- 
sued by  armed  men. 

They  were  the  last  defenders  of  the  palace,  who 
were  being  chased  through  the  streets. 

Suddenly,  after  two  or  three  discharges  quite  near 
to  her,  she  heard  what  seemed  like  the  sound  of  quick 
footsteps  in  the  alley  that  led  to  the  other  door  of  her 
work-room  on  the  Rue  Saint-Honorg. 

She  trembled. 

41  There  seems  to  be  some  one  there,"  she  murmured. 
««  Yes — there's  some  one  walking — who  can  have  come 
here  ? ' 


Padawe  gm$-(&tut,  33 

Bravely  she  ran,  took  down  the  bar  of  the  alley  door, 
and  opened  it. 

A  man  appeared,  pale,  weak  and  blood-stained, 
holding  his  hand  to  his  breast ;  he  dragged  himself 
along  painfully. 

The  wounded  man  wore  a  uniform  of  white  with 
knee-breeches  and  silk  stockings. 

He  was  not  a  patriot ;  he  had  fought,  surely,  in  the 
ranks  of  the  enemies  of  the  people. 

"Who  are  you  ?  And  what  do  you  want  ?"she  said 
firmly. 

•*  A  victim — I  am  wounded — they  pursue  me — give 
me  shelter — save  me,  for  Heaven's  sake,  madame — I  am 
the  Count  of  Neipperg.     I  am  an  Austrian  officer " 

He  could  say  no  more. 

A  bloody  foam  came  to  his  lips.  His  face  became 
frightfully  pale. 

He  fell  on  the  threshold  of  the  alley. 

Catharine,  seeing  this  elegant  young  man  falling  be- 
fore her,  his  coat  and  vest  already  blood-stained,  gave 
a  cry  of  pity  and  affright. 

"Ah,  poor  boy,"  she  said,  "how  they  have  settled 
things  for  him  !  He  is  doubtless  an  aristocrat — he  has 
fired  on  the  people — he  is  not  even  a  Frenchman — he 
said  he  was  an  Austrian.  It's  all  the  same,  he's  a  man 
just  the  same." 

And,  moved  by  that  instinct  of  good  which  is  found 

in  the  heart  of  every  woman,  even  the  most  energetic — 

for  in  even  a  robust  warrior  maid,   there  lies   a  sweet 

sister  of  charity — Catharine  knelt,  touched  the  wounded 

3 


34  Padam*  jfeiM-tifcttf. 

man's  breast,  gently  took  away  the  blood-stained  linen, 
Vnd  tried  to  assure  herself  whether  or  not  he  was  dead. 

"  He  breathes,"  she  said  joyously  ;  "  perhaps  I  can 
save  him  !  " 

So,  running  to  the  trough  she  filled  a  bowl  with  fresh 
water,  and  after  having  taken  the  precaution  of  closing 
the  street-door  solidly,  by  thrusting  back  the  bar,  she 
returned  to  the  wounded  man. 

She  made  a  compress,  tearing  up  the  first  linen  gar- 
ment near  at  hand. 

In  her  hurry  she  had  not  noticed  that  she  was  tear- 
ing up  a  man's  shirt. 

"Ah,  I've  made  a  pretty  mess,"  she  said  to  herself, 
**  I've  taken  the  shirt  of  a  customer." 

She  looked  at  the  mark. 

"  It  belongs  to  that  poor  little  artillery  captain,  Na- 
poleon Bonaparte  !  The  poor  boy  has  none  too  many. 
And  besides,  he  owes  me  a  big  bill !  Well,  just  the 
same,  I'll  get  him  a  new  shirt.  I  will  go  and  buy  it, 
and  take  it  to  him  and  tell  him  I  burned  his  with  my 
iron.  I  hope  he'll  take  it ;  he  is  so  proud.  Ah  !  he's 
one  who  pays  little  attention  to  his  clothes— not  much 
more  than  he  does  to  women,  alas  ! "  she  added  with  a 
gentle  sigh. 

While  thinking  of  the  customer  whose  linen  she  had 
torn  to  rags,  Catharine  had  lightly  changed  her  com- 
presses on  the  wound  of  the  Austrian  officer,  who  was 
not  looked  for  at  the  house  of  so  good  a  patriot  as  her- 
self. 

The  appearance  of  this  young  man,  perhaps  mortally 


gHadame  £att0-te*.  35 

wounded,  so  pale  and  weak,  whose  strength,  and  life 
even,  ebbed  through  a  gaping  wound,  had  changed  all 
Catharine's  sentiments. 

She  was  no  longer  now  an  Amazon  in  petticoats,  who 
had  advanced  among  the  combatants,  bounding  with 
joy  at  every  volley,  and  wishing  to  have  a  musket,  that 
she  might  take  part  in  the  feast  of  death. 

She  had  become  a  saving  angel,  who  strove  to  relieve 
human  suffering. 

A  curse  against  war  almost  rose  to  her  lips,  and  she 
said  to  herself  that  men  had  become  savages  to  kill 
each  other  thus. 

But  she  repeated  at  the  same  time  her  hate  and  her 
anathema  against  the  king  and  queen,  who  had  made 
these  fatal  butcheries  necessary. 

"  He  is  an  Austrian,"  she  murmured.  "  What  was  he 
doing  here,  in  his  white  uniform  ?  Defending  this 
Austrian  woman  !  Madame  Veto  !  But  he  has  not 
the  air  of  a  bad  man." 

She  looked  at  him  attentively.  "  He  is  so  young — at 
most  twenty.     One  might  almost  think  him  a  girl." 

Then  the  professional  observation  came  :  "  His 
linen  is  fine  !  batiste  !     Oh,  he  is  an  aristo " 

And  she  sighed,  as  she  said,  '•  What  a  pity  !  " 

Under  the  healing  influence  of  the  cold  water,  and 
the  compresses  which  closed  the  wound  and  stopped 
the  flow  of  blood,  the  wounded  man  opened  his  dying 
eyes  slowly  and  looked  about,  in  search  of  something. 

With  consciousness  the  impression  of  danger  re- 
turned. 


36  Pattern*  <£att:ei-<>fatt*. 

He  made  a  movement  to  rise. 

"  Do  not  kill  me,"  he  murmured  in  a  supreme  and 
instinctive  effort,  extending  his  arms  before  him,  as  if 
to  parry  the  thrusts  of  invisible  enemies. 

Making  a  great  effort  and  collecting,  by  a  supreme 
effort  of  will,  all  his  forces,  he  was  able  to  say  :  ««  You 
are  Catharine  Upscher — of  Saint-Amarin  ?  It  was 
Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  who  sent  me  to  you.  She 
told  me  you  were  good — that  you  would  help  and 
succor  me.     I  will  explain  to  you  later." 

"  Mademoiselle  Blanche  de  Laveline  ?  "  asked  Catha- 
rine, stupidly — "  the  daughter  of  the  seigneur  of  Saint- 
Amarin — my  protector.  She  who  helped  me  to  begin 
work — to  buy  my  place.  Do  you,  then,  know  her  ? 
Ah  !  for  her,  there  is  no  peril  I  would  not  brave.  You 
were  right  to  come  here.  You  are  safe  here  ;  come  ; 
and  he  who  finds  your  hiding-place  must  do  so  over 
my  body  ! " 

The  wounded  man  tried  to  speak.  Doubtless  he 
wanted  to  call  again  upon  the  name  of  this  Blanche  de 
Laveline,  who  seemed  to  have  so  great  an  influence  on 
Catharine. 

Catharine  imposed  silence  on  him,  saying,  "  Be 
calm,  dismiss  your  fears  ;  "  and  she  added  in  a  motherly 
tone,  "  no  one  will  kill  you.  Mademoiselle  Blanche 
will  be  pleased  to  know  that  you  are  in  my  care,  though 
with  a  patriot." 

She  stopped  herself,  and  meditatively  added  :  "  What 
have  I  said  to  him  ?  These  Austrians  do  not  know 
what  patriots  are  ?     They  are  subjects,  slaves.     You 


Padam*  ^ajtg-Gktt*.  37 

are  with  a  friend,"  Catharine  resumed,  raising  her 
voice. 

Neipperg  dropped  to  the  ground.  His  senses, 
roused  for  a  moment,  had  now  left  him. 

But  he  had  heard  Catharine's  compassionate  voice, 
and  knew  that  he  was  safe. 

An  expression  of  unspeakable  joy  and  recognitioa 
crossed  his  wan  face.  He  was  with  a  friend — the  name 
of  Blanche  de  Laveline  would  protect  him  ;  he  had 
nothing  to  fear. 

With  a  further  effort  he  half-opened  his  eyes,  ex- 
tended his  blood-stained  and  cold  hand,  seeking  Catha- 
rine's warm  one. 

"  It  is  well — be  calm  ! — let  me  take  care  of  you, 
Austrian,"  said  Catharine,  mastering  her  feelings. 

And,  slowly,  anxiously,  she  said  to  herself,  "  He 
must  lie  more  comfortably,  more  softly — but  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to  carry  him  to  the  bed.  Ah!  ifLe- 
febvre  were  here — but  he  does  not  come.  Oh,  can  he 
be " 

She  did  not  finish  the  thought.  The  idea  that  Le- 
febvre  might  be  lying,  like  this  foreign  officer,  lifeless, 
and  blood-stained,  presented  itself  to  her  for  the  first 
time,  and  she  shivered  with  fright. 

"  How  terrible  is  war  ! "  she  murmured. 

But  her  energetic  nature  re-asserted  itself,  and  she 
sighed. 

"  Bah  !  Lefebvre  is  too  brave  too  strong  to  be  like 
this  little  aristocrat.  He  is  a  receptacle  for  balls. 
Lefebvre  !  he'd  take  half  a  dozen  into  his  body  with- 


Padame  £an0-6enc. 

out  so  much  as  a  cry  !  He  is  not  cut  like  these  young 
sprigs.  And  this  one  volunteered  to  defend  Madame 
Veto  !     He  dared  to  fire  on  the  people  !  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  looked  again  at  the 
wounded  man. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  leave  him  here — he  will  die 
surely.  What  shall  I  do  ?  He  is  a  friend  of  Made- 
moiselle Blanche.  I  cannot  let  him  die  so  !  I  must  do 
my  utmost  to  revive  him." 

Then  suddenly  a  thought  struck  her.  "  Maybe  he  is 
betrothed  to  Mademoiselle  Blanche." 

"  It  were  droll,  indeed,  if  I  should  help  her  to  marry, 
when  she  promised  me  a  dowry  !  Oh,  I  must  save  the 
young  man  !  Yet  my  Lefebvre  does  not  come  !  "  she 
repeated  anxiously,  seeking  for  a  means  of  carrying  the 
Austrian. 

Then  she  reflected,  "  It  is,  perhaps,  better  that 
Lefebvre  is  not  here.  Oh,  it  is  not  that  he  would  be 
angry  or  reproach  me  for  sparing  an  aristocrat  ;  when 
he  found  him  to  be  a  friend  of  my  best  friend,  he  would 
say  nothing — and,  besides,  after  the  battle,  a  French 
soldier  knows  no  enemies.  Lefebvre  has  told  me  that 
often  ;  but  he's  as  jealous  as  a  tiger.  It  would  dis- 
please him  to  see  me  dressing  the  wound  of  this  aristo- 
crat ;  then  he  might  demand  to  know  how  this  young 
man  happened  to  seek  refuge  with  me.  'To  demand 
a  shelter  of  you,  he  must  have  known  you  ;  '  that  is 
what  he  would  say — but  I  know  well  how  I  would 
answer  him — nevertheless,  I'd  rather  he  should  not  see 
him." 


And  once  more  she  tried  to  lift  the  body  of  the  young 
Austrian,  now  become  heavy  through  unconscious- 
ness. 

Just  then  some  one  struck  the  street  door.  Catharine 
trembled.  She  listened,  as  pale  now  as  the  wounded 
man. 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  she  asked  herself.  "  My  work- 
room is  closed  and  no  one  would  come  to  bring  or  take 
away  linen  on  such  a  day." 

The  sound  of  muskets  was  heard  on  the  stones.  Some 
one  struck,  at  the  same  time,  on  the  alley  door. 

Voices  were  raised  confusedly. 

**  He  is  safe  by  this  time." 

"  He  is  hidden  here." 

Catharine  shuddered. 

"  They  are  seeking  him,"  she  murmured, looking  with 
the  utmost  pity  upon  the  unconscious  man  beside  her. 

The  voices  growled  two  ways — an  impatient  shuffling 
of  feet  gave  witness  to  the  anxiety  of  the  crowd. 

"  Let  us  force  the  door,"  cried  an  impatient  voice. 

*'  How  shall  I  save  him  ?  "  groaned  Catharine,  and 
shaking  the  dying  man,  she  said  :  "  Come — citizen — sir 
— courage — try  to  walk " 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  said  in  a  stifled  voice,  '*  I 
cannot.     Let  me  die  !  " 

"  He's  anxious  to  die,"  growled  Catharine.  '*  See — 
have  a  little  energy — heavens  !  Remember,  I  must 
render  you  alive  to  Mile,  de  Laveline — she  never  sent 
you  here  to  die — get  up — so — that's  it — you  see  it  is 
not  hard — only  a  little  will " 


♦o  §Radam*  £m$-(8tnt. 

Neipperg  staggered  like  a  drunken  man.  Catharine 
could  hardly  support  him. 

The  cries,  the  threats,  the  adjurations  redoubled 
without. 

Then  the  blows  of  the  bayonets  directed  against  the 
door,  made  it  shake. 

Then  a  voice  was  heard — "  Stop,  citizens — let  me 
pass — that  door  will  be  opened  to  me." 

And  the  same  voice  cried  loudly  :  "  Catharine,  it  is  I 
— have  no  fear — come  !  " 

**  Lefebvre,"said  Catharine,  trembling,  happy  to  know 
that  he  was  safe  and  sound,  but  still  afraid  for  her  charge. 

"  Yes  ;  I'm  coming,"  she  called. 

"  You  see,  citizens — she  will  open — a  little  patience 
— pshaw  !  you  have  frightened  her  by  demanding  an 
opening  in  such  fashion,"  said  Lefebvre,  proudly,  when 
he  saw  that  Catharine  recognized  his  voice. 

"  Did  you  hear  ?  "  she  said  quickly  to  the  wounded 
man.  "  They  want  to  come  in — I  must  open  to  them — 
come  ! " 

«•  How  far  is  it  ?  " 

"  Try  to  get  up  these  stairs.  I  will  hide  you  in  the 
garret." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot — see,  I  fall." 

"  Well,  in  my  bedroom,  then." 

And  Catharine  helped  him  into  her  room  and  locked 
the  door. 

Then,  blushing,  breathless,  happy,  she  hastened  to 
open  to  Lefebvre  and  the  crowd,  saying  with  great  glee 
to  herself,  "  Now  he  is  safe." 


gjMami  £an.$-(Dcnc.  41 


CHAPTER  V. 

CATHARINE'S    BED-CHAMBER. 

The  bar  removed  and  the  bolts  drawn,  the  door 
opened,  giving  admittance  to  Lefebvre,  and  three  or  four 
National  Guards,  together  with  a  crowd  of  neighbors 
and  idlers,  among  whom  women  and  children  were  in 
great  numbers. 

"  You  were  slow  in  opening  to  us,  my  sweet  Catha- 
rine," said  Lefebvre,  kissing  her  on  both  cheeks. 

"  Well,  such  a  noise — such  yells  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  you  were  frightened  ;  but  they  were 
patriots,  friends,  who  knocked.  Catharine,  we  are  vic- 
tors on  every  side  !  The  tyrant  is  a  prisoner  of  the 
nation  ;  the  fortress  of  despotism  is  taken  ;  the  people 
are  masters  to-day." 

"  Long  live  the  nation  !  "  cried  several  voices. 

"  Death  to  traitors  !  "  "  To  perdition  with  the. Swiss 
and  the  Chevaliers  du  Poignard,"  cried  others  in  the 
crowd,  which  now  surged  to  the  very  door  of  Catharine's 
rooms. 

"  Yes,  death  to  those  who  fired  upon  the  people,'* 
said  Lefebvre  in  a  loud  voice.  "  Catharine,  do  you  know 
why  they  came  so  rudely  to  your  rooms  ?  " 

•'  No — I  was  afraid — I  have  heard  shots   near  here." 

*'  We  were  firing  at  an  aristocrat  who  escaped  from 


42  Padamc  Jto-to*. 

the  Tuileries — one  of  those  Chevaliers  du  Poignard, 
■who  would  assassinate  patriots.  I  had  sworn  that  if 
he  fell  into  my  hands  I  would  make  his  blood  atone  for 
ours.  Just  as  my  comrades  and  I  pursued  him,"  said 
Lefebvre,  indicating  the  National  Guards  with  him, 
*'  having  discharged  our  guns  at  him,  he  vanished  at 
the  turn  of  the  street  ;  he  is  surely  wounded  ;  there 
was  blood  beside  the  door  of  your  alley,  Catharine,  and 
so  we  thought  he  might  have  taken  refuge  here." 

Lefebvre  looked  around  him,  and  continued,  "  But 
he  is  not  here — we  could  see  him — besides,  you  can  as- 
sure us,  can  you  not  ?  " 

Then  turning  to  the  National  Guards,  "  Comrades, 
we  have  nothing  more  to  do  here,  not  you,  at  least — you 
see  the  white  uniform  is  not  here — you  will  permit  one 
of  the  victors  of  the  Tuileries  to  embrace  his  wife  in 
private  ?  " 

"  Your  wife  ?     Oh,  not  yet,  Lefebvre,"  said  Catharine. 

"  How  ?     Is  not  the  tyrant  done  for  ?  " 

And  waving  his  hand  to  the  guards,  "Au  revoir, 
citizens,  until  later,  at  the  section,  we  must  name  a  cap- 
tain and  two  lieutenants,  and  also  a  curate  for  the 
parish— a  patriot  curate,  surely.  The  curate  grew 
frightened  and  ran  away,  the  two  lieutenants  and  the 
captain  were  killed  by  the  Swiss,  and  so  we  must  find 
others.     Au  revoir  .'  " 

The  guards  moved  off. 

The  crowd  still  stood  round  the  door. 

"  Well,  friends,  did  you  not  hear  or  understand  ?  "  said 
Lefebvre  in  a  low  and  pleasant  voice.     "  What  are  you 


waiting  for  ?  For  him  in  white  ?  He  is  not  here  with 
Catharine  ;  that  is  clear.  Oh,  he  must  have  fallen  some 
distance  from  here,  by  the  way — he  had  at  least  three 
balls  in  his  breast — look  for  him — it  is  your  affair  ! 
He  is  no  hunter  who  gives  up  his  game/' 

And  Lefebvre  sent  them  from  him. 

"  Well  !  well  !  we  will  go  after  him,  sergeant !  " 

"  It's  easy  enough  to  turn  the  world  upside  down," 
paid  another. 

And  he  added  in  a  slow  voice,  ■«  Couldn't  somebody 
be  hiddea  in  that  room  ?  " 

Lefebvre  quickly  closed  the  door,  and  opening  his 
arms  to  embrace  Catharine  again,  said  :  "  I  thought 
they'd  never  take  themselves  off.  Did  you  hear  their 
impudence,  they  spoke  of  your  bedroom,  your  bed- 
room, indeed  !  What  a  notion  !  But  how  you  tremble, 
Catharine  !  Come,  it  is  over  ;  be  calm  !  Let  us  think 
of  each  other." 

He  noted  Catharine's  eyes  turned  toward  the  door  of 
her  room. 

Instinctively,  he  went  to  the  door  and  tried  to  open 
it 

It  did  not  yield. 

Lefebvre  stopped,  surprised,  uneasy. 

A  vague  suspicion  crossed  him. 

"Catharine,"  he  said,  "  why  is  that  door  closed  ?" 

"  Because — I  wanted  it  so,"  said  Catharine,  visibly 
embarrassed. 

••  That  is  no  reason  ;  give  me  the  key." 

••No,  you  shall  not  have  it  1 " 


44  Padam*  gm$-(&tnt, 

"Catharine,"  cried  Lefebvre  white  with  rage,  "you 
are  deceiving  me  ;  there  is  some  one  in  that  room — a 
lover,  doubtless.     I  want  that  key." 

"  And  I  have  said  you  shall  not  have  it !  " 

"Well,  I  will  take  it." 

And  Lefebvre  put  his  hand  into  Catharine's  apron- 
pocket,  took  the  key,  went  to  the  door  of  the  chamber, 
and  unlocked  it. 

"  Lefebvre,"  cried  Catharine,  "  my  husband,  only,  I 
have  told  you,  may  go  through  that  door.  Enter  it  by 
force  now,  and  you  shall  never  go  through  it  with  me  ! " 

Some  one  knocked,  again,  at  the  outer  door. 

Catharine  went  to  open  it. 

"  Where  is  Sergeant  Lefebvre  ?  "  they  asked  ;  "  he  is 
wanted  at  the  section.  They  talk  of  making  him  lieu- 
tenant." 

Lefebvre,  moved,  pale  and  silent,  stepped  back  from 
Catharine's  chamber. 

He  re-closed  the  door  carefully,  took  out  the  key, 
and  returning  it  to  Catharine,  said:  "You  did  not  tell 
me  that  death  was  in  your  chamber." 

"  He  is  dead  !  Ah,  poor  lad  !  "  said  Catharine 
sadly. 

"  No — he  lives.  But  tell  me  true — he  came  not  as  a 
lover  ?  " 

"  Beast  !  "  said  Catharine.  "  If  he  had  come  so,  do 
you  think  I  would  have  hidden  him  there  ?  But  you 
will  not  give  him  up,  at  least  ?  "  She  asked  it  anx- 
ously.  "  Though  he  is  an  Austrian,  he  is  a  friend  of 
Mile.  Blanche  de  Laveline,  my  benefactress." 


"  A  wounded  man  is  sacred,"  said  Lefebvre.  "  That 
chamber,  my  sweet  Catharine,  is  become  an  ambulance, 
which  one  never  disturbs.  Tend  the  poor  devil  ! 
Save  him  !  I  shall  be  ready  to  help  you  pay  your  debt 
to  that  lady  who  has  been  good  to  you  ;  but  keep 
silent  that  none  may  ever  know — it  might  do  me  harm 
in  my  section." 

"  Ah  !  brave  heart !  Thou  art  as  good  as  brave  ! 
Lefebvre,  you  have  my  promise.  When  you  are  ready, 
I  will  be  your  wife  !  " 

"  That  will  be  quickly  done  ;  but  my  friends  are  get- 
ing  impatient.     I  must  go  with  them." 

"  Sergeant  Lefebvre,  they  are  waiting  for  you,  they 
want  to  vote  !  "  cried  one  of  the  guards. 

"Well,  I'm  coming  ;  start  on,  comrades." 

And  while  Sergeant  Lefebvre  went  to  the  section, 
where  the  votes  were  to  be  cast,  Catharine  entered  her 
chamber  on  tip-toe,  where,  in  a  light  sleep,  interrupted  by 
feverish  starts,  lay  the  young  Austrian  officer,  who  had 
become  to  her  a  sacred  charge,  since  he  had  invoked 
the  name  of  Blanche  de  Laveline. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LITTLE   HENRIOT. 

Catharine  brought  some  bouillon  and  a  little  wine 
to  the  sick  man.  As  she  did  so,  she  said  to  him,  when 
he  had  wakened  at  the  sound  of  her  step  : 


"Take  this;  you  must  grow  stronger.  You  need 
Ml  your  strength,  for  you  know  you  cannot  stay  very 
ong  in  this  room.  Of  course,  it  is  not  I  who  would 
end  you  away  ;  you  are  here  as  a  guest  of  Mademoi- 
.  elle  Blanche  ;  it  is  she  who  sent  you  to  me  ;  it  is  she 
who  shelters  and  protects  you.  But  there  are  too 
many  outsiders  who  come  to  my  shop — my  fellow- 
workers,  my  customers,  and  others, — and  these  will  not 
be  slow  to  talk,  you  may  be  sure,  and  that  would  get 
both  of  us  into  trouble.  Why  !  you  have  fired  on  the 
people." 

Neipperg  made  a  movement  and  said  slowly  :  "  We 
defended  the  king." 

"  The  big  Veto  ! "  cried  Catharine,  elevating  her 
shoulders.  "  He  had  taken  refuge  with  the  Assembly  ; 
he  was  safe,  and  quiet ;  he  left  you  to  fight  it  out,  the 
great  egoist,  without  thinking  about  you  any  more 
than  of  that  red  cap  he  had  snatched  from  his  head 
on  the  twentieth  of  June,  often  having  feigned  to  wear 
it  with  a  good  grace,  among  our  companions  of  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Antoine.  He  is  good  for  nothing,  an  idler, 
your  great  Veto,  whom  his  jade  of  a  wife  pulls  round 
by  the  nose — do  you  know  whither  ?  before  the  guns 
of  the  people.  That,  surely,  is  where  he  will  go. 
But,"  she  added,  after  a  short  silence,  "  what  on  earth 
were  you  doing  in  that  engagement,  you,  a  stranger  ? 
For  you  told  me  you  were  an  Austrian  ?  " 

••  As  lieutenant  of  the  noble  guards  of  his  majesty  I 
was  charged  with  a  mission  to  the  queen,"  was  the 
reply. 


Padam*  £mt#-tiitat*.  47 

"  The  Austrian  woman,"  sneered  Catharine,  "  and 
for  her  you  fought, — you  who  had  nothing  to  do  with 
our  struggles  ! " 

"  I  wanted  to  die,"  said  the  young  man,  very  simply. 

"  To  die  !  At  your  age  ?  for  the  king  ?  for  the 
queen  ?  There  must  be  a  mystery  in  this,  my  young 
man,"  said  Catharine,  with  good-humored  raillery. 
"  Excuse  me  if  I  seem  indiscreet,  but  when  one  is 
twenty  years  old,  and  wants  to  die,  among  men  one 
doesn't  know,  and  against  whom  one  has  no  reason  to 
fight — well — then,  one  must  be  in  love.  Hem  !  have  I 
guessed  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  good  hostess." 

"  Gracious  !  It  was  not  hard  to  do.  And  shall  I 
tell  you  with  whom  you  are  in  love  ?  With  Mademoi- 
selle Blanche  de  Laveline.  Oh,  I  do  not  ask  your  confi- 
dences," Catharine  added  quickly,  noticing  an  uneasi- 
ness in  the  pale  face  of  the  wounded  man.  "  It  is  none 
of  my  business  ;  yet  I  know  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline 
is  very  lovable." 

The  Count  de  Neipperg  raised  himself  a  little  and 
exclaimed  with  fervor  : 

"  Yes,  she  is  good  and  beautiful,  my  darling  Blanche. 
Oh  !  madame,  if  death  comes  for  me,  tell  her  that  with 
my  last  sigh  I  breathed  her  name  ;  tell  her  that  my 
last  thought,  ere  life  departed,  was  for  her  and  for " 

The  young  man  stopped,  keeping  a  confession  from 
rising  to  his  lips. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  die,"  rejoined  Catharine, 
anxious  to  comfort  him.     ««  Who  dies  at  your  years 


48  Padam*  £an0-<$*tte. 

when  he  is  in  love  ?  You  must  live,  man,  for  Ma- 
demoiselle Blanche,  whom  you  love,  and  who  surely 
loves  jz'j,  and  for  that  other  person  you  were  going  to 
name — her  father,  aoubtless,  M.  de  Laveline  ?  A  very 
fine  gentleman.  I  have  seen  him  several  times,  the 
Marquis  of  Laveline,  down  in  Alsace.  He  wore  a  blue 
velvet  with  gold  embroidery,  and  he  had  a  jewelled 
snuff-box  that  sparkled. 

Neipperg,  when  he  heard  the  name  of  the  Marquis 
of  Laveline,  permitted  a  gesture  of  contempt  and  anger 
to  escape  him. 

"  It  seems,"  said  Catharine  to  herself,  "  that  they  are 
not  great  friends.  It  is  well  to  know  this,  I  shall  not 
speak  to  him  on  that  subject  again — probably  Blanche's 
father  is  opposed  to  the  match.  Poor  girl  !  That  was 
why  the  young  man  wanted  to  die." 

And,  with  a  sigh  of  pity,  she  began  to  arrange  the 
poor  fellow's  pillow,  saying  to  him  :  "  I  have  been 
talking  too  much — it  annoys  you  perhaps.  Won't  you 
try  to  sleep  a  little,  sir  ?     It  will  lessen  the  fever." 

The  sick  man  gently  turned  his  head. 

"  Talk  to  me  of  Blanche,"  he  urged.  "  Speak  of  her 
again  ;  that  will  cure  me." 

Catharine  smiled,  and  sat  down  to  tell  him  how, 
born  on  a  little  farm  not  far  from  the  castle  of  the  seign- 
eurs of  Lavelinej  she  had  watched  Mademoiselle 
Blanche  grow  up.  Reared  by  her  mother,  whom  the 
marquis  left  alone  most  of  the  time,  being  an  attendant 
at  court,  Blanche  had  grown  up  in  the  country,  run- 
ning through  the  woodland,  hunting  and  riding  alike 


Padame  gm$-(&m.  49 

over  field  and  fell,  never  minding  the  bars  that  had  to 
be  leaped,  nor  the  gates  to  be  passed.  She  was  never 
haughty,  and  talked  pleasantly  with  the  country  folks. 
She  had  come  frequently  to  the  farm  and  had  grown 
fond  of  the  little  Catharine. 

One  day  the  marquis  had  called  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter to  Versailles.  Catharine  and  three  other  young 
.girls  had  been  taken  from  the  country  to  wait  upon 
Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline.  Catherine  had 
spent  several  happy  years,  then  Madame  de  Laveline 
had  died  ;  and  it  was  then  that  Mademoiselle  Blanche, 
who  had  accompanied  her  father  on  a  diplomatic  mis- 
sion to  England,  had,  before  going  to  London,  been  so 
£ood  as  to  set  Catharine  up  in  business,  buying  her  the 
laundry  of  Mile.  Loblegeois,  where  she  was  still  to  be 
found.  Ah  !  she  was  a  creature  who  ought  to  be  be- 
loved and  blessed,  was  Mademoiselle  Blanche. 

As  Catharine  closed  the  story  of  her  modest  exist- 
ence, and  told  of  the  good  deeds  of  the  daughter  of  the 
Marquis  de  Laveline,  some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 

Could  it  be  Lefebvre  who  was  returning  with  his 
comrades  from  the  section  ?  Catharine  thought  un- 
easily. *'  Rest  quietly  and  make  no  noise,"  she  adjured 
Neipperg,  who  pricked  up  his  ears.  "  If  Lefebvre  is 
alone,  there  is  no  danger  ;  but  if  his  comrades  are  with 
him,  I  will  speak  to  them  and  send  them  away.  Do  as 
I  bid  you  and  fear  nothing." 

Catharine  hurried  to  open  the  door,  resolutely,  though 
somewhat  excited.  Her  surprise  was  great  when  she 
saw  a  young  woman,  who  cast  herself,  trembling,  into 
4 


50  gjftaflame  J5ams-(Sftte. 

the  room,  saying,  "  He  is  here,  is  he  not  ?  They  said 
they  saw  a  man  drag  himself  to  the  gate.  Is  he  still 
alive  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  Mademoiselle  Blanche,"  said  Catharine,  rec- 
ognizing in  the  frightened  woman  Mile,  de  Laveline, 
**  he  is  here — in  my  chamber — he  lives  and  speaks  only 
of  you — come  and  see  him." 

"  Oh,  my  good  Catharine,  what  a  happy  inspiration  led 
me  to  send  him  to  you  for  a  sure  refuge,  when  he  left 
to  fight  with  the  gentlemen  of  the  palace  ! "  And 
Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  took  Catharine's  hands 
in  hers,  and  pressed  them  in  gratitude,  saying,  "  Take 
me  to  him." 

The  sight  of  Blanche  produced  a  startling  effect  on 
the  wounded  man.  He  wanted  to  leap  from  the  bed 
on  which  Catharine  had  had  so  much  difficulty  in  help- 
ing him  to  stretch  himself.  But  the  two  women  made 
him  stay  there,  almost  by  main  force. 

"  Naughty  boy,"  said  Blanche,  in  her  gentle  voice  ; 
"you  tried  to  let  them  kill  you." 

"  Life  without  you  was  a  burden  ;  could  I  have 
found  a  nobler  way  to  leave  it  than  in  the  fight,  sword 
in  hand,  smiling  upon  death  who  came  to  me  so  glori- 
ously ?  " 

"  Ungrateful  !  you  should  have  lived  for  me  !  " 

"  For  you  ?  Were  you  not  already  dead  to  me  ? 
Were  you  not  about  to  leave  me  forever  ?  " 

"  That  odious  marriage  was  not  yet  concluded — ■ 
a  chance  might  have  helped  us.  Hope  was  nor 
dead." 


Padam*  #att0-<$*tttf.  51 

"You  told  me,  yourself,"  said  Neipperg,  "that  there 
was  but  one  hope.  To-day,  the  tenth  of  August,  you 
were  to  have  become  the  wife  of  another,  and  be  called 
Madame  de  Lowendaal.  Your  father  had  decided  so, 
and  you  could  not  resist." 

"  You  know  that  my  tears  and  prayers  proved  use- 
less. Afraid  of  being  ruined  by  the  Baron  de  Lowen- 
■daal,  the  Belgian  millionaire,  who  had  loaned  him  large 
sums  of  money,  and  insisted  on  immediate  payment,  or, 
in  default,  my  hand,  my  father  consented  to  give  him 
what  he  desired  most  of  all." 

"  And  that  which  cost  your  father  least.  The  mar- 
quis would  pay  his  debt  with  his  child." 

"  Hush,  dear,  my  father  did  not  know  how  great  our 
love  was — he  knew  nothing — he  does  not  know  now," 
said  Blanche,  with  increasing  energy. 

Catharine,  during  this  conversation  between  the 
lovers,  had  turned  aside.  She  had  passed  discreetly 
into  the  outer  room  at  the  moment  when  Neipperg, 
with  mournful  vehemence,  looked  at  Blanche  and  an- 
swered, "  Yes,  they  are  ignorant  of  everything.  When 
I  went  away,  I  grew  desperate.  My  death  would  have 
but  rendered  the  silence  more  complete,  the  ignorance 
more  profound  ;  yet  the  balls  of  the  ■  sans-culottes  '  did 
not  kill  me.  I  have  to  try  again.  Well,  occasions  to 
die  will  not  be  lacking  in  the  years  which  are  coming. 
War  is  declared.  I  will  go  and  search  in  the  ranks  of 
the  imperial  army,  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  the 
death  which  was  denied  me  in  the  fall  of  the  Tuileries." 

"  You  shall  not  do  that,"  was  the  maiden's  reply. 


52  Padmtw  £anj5i-<*ktt*. 

"  Who  shall  keep  me  from  it  ?  "  Neipperg  rejoined.. 
"  But  forgive  me,  Blanche !  This  is  the  tenth  oi 
August,  the  day  set  for  your  marriage.  How  does 
it  happen  that  you  are  here  ?  Your  place  is  beside  your 
husband.  They  wait  for  you  at  church.  Why  are  you 
not  ready  to  make  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal  happy  and 
to  cancel  the  debts  of  the  marquis  ?  The  fight,  doubt- 
less, interrupted  the  ceremony  ;  but  the  shooting  has 
ceased,  the  tocsin  is  silent,  and  they  can  now  ring  the 
wedding-bells.  Let  me  die.  Here  or  elsewhere,  to- 
day or  to-morrow,  what  does  it  matter  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  You  must  live — for  me — for  our  child  !  " 
cried  Blanche,  throwing  herself  upon  Neipperg,  and. 
embracing  him  passionately. 

"  Our  child,"  murmured  the  sick  man. 

"  Yes,  our  dear  little  Henriot !  You  have  no  right  to- 
die  !      Your  life  is  not  your  own." 

"  Our  child,"  said  Neipperg,  sadly;  "  but — but — youl 
marriage  ?  " 

"  It  has  not  yet  come  off;  there  is  hope  still." 

"  Really  I  You  are  not  yet  Madame  de  Lowen- 
daal ?  " 

"Not  yet  !     Never,  perhaps." 

"  How  ?     Tell  me." 

And  a  feverish  anxiety  convulsed  the  face  of  the 
sufferer,  while  Blanche  resumed  :  "  When  you  had 
gone,  after  bidding  me  a  farewell  which  we  both- 
thought  was  to  be  forever,  for  you  had  told  me  that 
you  were  going  to  join  the  defenders  of  the  palace,  1. 
had  one  little  hope  in  my  heart    I  indicated  to  you  th« 


house  of  good  Catharine  as  a  safe  refuge,  if  you  should 
happen  to  escape  from  the  Tuileries.  I  hoped  to  be 
able  to  join  you  there." 

"  You  hoped  for  that  ?  Even  while  consenting  to 
obey  your  father  ?  Why,  you  had  decided  to  become 
the  wife  of  Lowendaal." 

"  Yes,  but  something  told  me  that  that  wedding 
would  never  take  place." 

"  And  it  is  come  to  pass  !  " 

"  The  insurrection  resounded  in  the  suburbs.  My 
father  declared  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  celebrate 
the  marriage  on  the  day  appointed,  so  the  Baron  de 
Lowendaal  proposed  to  postpone  the  ceremony  for  three 
months." 

"  Three  months  !  " 

"  Yes,  the  sixth  of  November;  that  is  the  date  he  has 
set." 

"  Ah  !  M.  le  Baron  is  not  in  a  hurry." 

"  Frightened  by  the  turn  ot  events,  doubtful  as  to  the 
progress  of  the  Revolution,  M.  de  Lowendaal  left 
Paris  last  night,  before  the  closing  of  the  gates.  He 
has  returned  to  his  own  country.  He  has  named  his 
palace,  near  Jemmapes,  on  the  Belgian  frontier,  as  the 
place  where  we  are  to  celebrate  that  impossible  mar- 
riage." 

"  And  you  are  to  go  to  Jemmapes  ?  " 

"  My  father,  somewhat  frightened,  has  decided  to  go 
to  the  baron's  castle.  We  are  to  go  soon,  if  the  roads 
are  open  !  " 

"  And  you  are  going  with  him  ?  " 


54  padam*  Jfattg-Gkne. 

"  I  shall  go  with  him ;  oh,  rest  assured,  I  kno\* 
what  I  have  vowed.  I  shall  never  be  the  baron's 
bride." 

"  You  swear  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  swear  it !  " 

"  But  who  will  give  you  the  power  to  resist  at 
Jemmapes,  when  you  yielded  here  ?  " 

«•  Before  his  departure,  the  baron  received  a  letter 
which  I  wrote  to  him — with,  oh,  such  tears  !  His  servant, 
whom  I  bribed,  will  not  have  given  it  to  him  till  he  is 
over  the  border " 

"  And  he  knows  ?  " 

"  The  truth  !  He  knows  that  I  love  you,  and  that  our 
little  Henriot  can  have  none  other  than  you  to  call 
father." 

"Oh,  my  darling  Blanche  !  My  beloved  wife  whom  I 
adore  !  Ah,  you  give  me  back  my  life  !  It  seems  I 
have  almost  power  to  rise  and  begin  again  the  combat 
with  the  «  sans-culottes.'  " 

And  Neipperg,  in  his  wild  excitement,  made  so  sud- 
den a  movement  that  the  bandages  which  covered  his 
wound  slipped,  the  gash  re-opened,  and  a  stream  of 
blood  flowed. 

He  uttered  a  cry. 

Catharine  ran  in  and  offered  her  help. 

The  two  women  did  their  best  to  re-adjust  the 
bandages,  and  closed  the  wound  again. 

Neipperg  had  fainted. 

He  came  to  slowly. 

His  first  disconnected  words  told  the  secret. 


Padame  gm$-(&tnt.  55 

"JBlanche — I  am  dying — watch  over  our  child,"  he 
whispered. 

Catharine  heard  this  revelation,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
blow. 

*'  Mademoiselle  Blanche  has  a  child,"  she  said  to  her- 
self ;  then  turning  to  the  young  woman  who  stood, 
with  eyes  cast  down,  she  said  quickly,  '*  Fear  nothing  ; 
what  I  happen  to  hear  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at 
the  other.  If  you  should  ever  need  me,  you  know  that 
Catharine  is  always  ready  to  serve  you.  Is  the  child 
big  ?     I  am  sure  he  is  sweet !  " 

"  He  is  nearly  three  years  old." 

"  And  his  name  is  ?  " 

*•  Henri — we  call  him  Henriot." 

"  It  is  a  pretty  name.  Could  I  see  him,  mademoi- 
selle ?  " 

Blanche  de  Laveline  reflected. 

"  Listen,  dear  Catharine,  you  can  do  me  a  great 
service, — finish  what  you  have  begun  so  well,  by  rescu- 
ing and  saving  M.  de  Neipperg." 

"  Speak — what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  My  boy  is  with  a  good  woman  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Paris — Mere  Hoche,  in  a  suburb  of  Versailles." 

"  Mere  Hoche,  I  know  her  !  Her  son  is  a  friend  of 
Lefebvre — Lefebvre  is  my  lover,  almost  my  husband  ; 
you  see.  I  too  shall  marry  and  have  a  little  Henri, 
— more  than  one  perhaps." 

"  I  wish  you  joy  !  You  will  go  and  see  Mother  Hoche.** 

"  I  have  a  message  for  her  from  her  son  Lezare,  who 
was    in   the   French   Guards  with   Lefebvre.      It   was 


56  Padame  £an0-6m. 

Lefebvre  who  took  him  to  enroll.  They  were  togethef 
at  the  taking  of  the  Bastille." 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  the  Citizeness  Hoche  ?  " 

*•  Give  her  this  money  and  this  letter,"  said  Blanche, 
handing  Catharine  a  purse  and  a  paper, "  and  then  you 
are  to  take  the  child  and  carry  him  off.  Is  it  too  much, 
Catharine  ?  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?  You  know  only  too  well  that  should 
you  ask  me  to  go,  alone,  and  re-take  the  Tuileries, 
though  the  Swiss  had  returned  to  it,  I  would  attempt  it 
for  you.  Too  much  !  Ah,  you  are  cruel  !  Was  it  not 
your  kindness  that  enabled  me  to  buy  this  place,  to 
establish  my  business  here,  and  to  become,  by  and  by, 
Mme.  Lefebvre  ?  Think  !  have  you  not  some  further 
command  for  me.  When  I  have  taken  the  little  one 
from  Versailles,  what  am  I  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  Bring  him  to  me." 

••Where?" 

"  At  the  Palace  de  Lowendaal  near  a  village  called 
Jemmapes.  It  is  in  Belgium,  on  the  border.  Can  you 
get  there  readily  ?  " 

"  For  you  I  will  try  anything  !  When  must  I  be  at 
Jemmapes  with  the  boy  ?  " 

"  At  the  latest  by  the  sixth  of  November." 

«'  Well,  I  shall  be  there  !  Lefebvre  will  manage,  I  am 
sure,  to  let  me  go.  Before  that  we  shall  have  been 
married,  and  who  knows  but  he  may  go  with  me.  The 
fighting  may  be  over  then." 

■*  Embrace  me,  Catharine  !  Some  day,  I  trust  to  be 
able  to  acknowledge  all  you  are  doing  for  me." 


Padame  gm#-(&tnt.  57 

"  Your  reward  came  beforehand.     Count  on  me." 

"  At  Jemmapes,  then " 

"  At  Jemmapes,  on  the  sixth  of  November,"  repeated 
Blanche  de  Laveline,  and  looking  at  Neipperg,  she  said, 
"  He  is  sleeping  ;  I  shall  watch  beside  him.  Go  to 
your  duties,  Catharine  ;  you  must  find  us  in  the  way 
greatly." 

"  I  have  told  you  you  are  at  home  here  ;  but  see,  he 
awakes/'  she  said,  looking  at  Neipperg,  who  slowly 
opened  his  eyes  ;  "  you  must  have  a  great  many  things 
to  tell  each  other.     I  shall  leave  you." 

"  You  are  not  going  away  ?  You  will  not  leave  me 
alone  ?" 

*'  Oh,  I  shall  not  be  away  long.  I  must  take  some 
clothes  to  a  customer  at  a  little  distance.  I  will  return 
at  once.     Open  to  no  one.     Good-bye." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  TENANT  OF  THE  HOTEL  DE  METZ. 

While  the  Count  de  Neipperg  and  Blanche  de 
Laveline,  in  delicious  tete-d-tete,  were  discussing  their 
projects  for  the  future  and  talking  of  their  child,  Catha- 
rine had  taken  a  basket  full  of  clothes  on  her  arm  and 
made  herself  ready  to  go  out. 

She  wanted  to  use  her  time  profitably.  The  lovers 
were  busy,  they  would  not  notice  her  absence  ;  and, 
besides,  all  the  morning  had   been  a  loss  to  the  laun- 


58  |ftadamt  £att0-<5*ttf. 

dress.  True,  not  every  day  was  the  Tuileries  taken, 
but  nevertheless  she  had  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 
Moreover,  she  reflected  on  the  various  things  that  had 
come  to  pass. 

She  had  become  a  keeper  of  secrets. 

Neipperg  had  quite  approved  the  confidence  of 
Blanche  which  gave  the  charge  of  little  Henriot  to 
her  instead  of  Mere  Hoche,  in  whose  hands  he  was  at 
Versailles.     She  was  to  take  him  to  Jemmapes. 

When  he  was  recovered,  Neipperg  would  go  to  the 
mother  of  his  child,  braving  the  anger  of  the  Marquis 
of  Laveline,  ready  to  beard  the  Baron  of  Lowendaal  in 
his  own  hall  and  to  dispute  his  right  to  Blanche,  sword 
in  hand,  if  need  be. 

Thus  Catharine,  pursuing  her  way,  communed  with 
herself. 

"  Lefebvre  is  at  the  section  where  they  are  voting. 
He  cannot  return  before  the  election  of  the  new  officers 
is  announced.  That  will  occupy  at  least  two  hours. 
They  take  such  a  long  time  to  vote  at  the  section  of  the 
Filles-Saint-Thomas.  All  good  angels  guard  my  Le- 
febvre !  I  shall  have  time  to  run  to  Captain  Bona- 
parte's." 

And  thinking  of  her  client,  the  lean,  pale  artillery 
officer,  she  smiled. 

*'  He's  one  who  hasn't  any  surplus  shirts,"  she  said. 
"  Poor  captain,  he'll  miss  that  one." 

And  with  a  sigh  she  added,  "  When  I  am  Citizeness 
Lefebvre  I  don't  want  to  owe  anything  to  Captain 
Bonaparte.     It  is  enough  that  he  owes  me  something. 


I'll  present  him  his  bill.  If  he  should  ask  me  for  it  I 
can  give  it  to  him.  Anyway,  at  the  worst  extremity,  I 
don't  expect  to  get  all  he  owes  me,  ever.  Poor  boy,  he 
is  such  a  hard  worker — such  a  scholar — always  read- 
ing and  writing — he  has  a  sad  youth  ;  but  one  cannot 
have  time  for  everything,"  she  said,  with  a  sarcastic 
smile  and  a  somewhat  disparaging  shrug  as  she  felt  in 
her  pocket  for  Captain  Bonaparte's  laundry  bill. 

She  got  to  the  H6tel  de  Metz,  kept  by  Maureard, 
where  the  humble  artillery  officer  lived. 

He  occupied  a  modest  room  on  the  third  story, 
number  14. 

The  youth  of  this  man,  at  once  so  great  and  so  un- 
fortunate, who  made  the  century  ring  with  his  name 
and  his  glory,  whose  aureole  of  blood  still  ensanguines 
our  horizon,  passed  without  extraordinary  events  or 
supernatural  revelations. 

It  was  only  afterwards  that  people  tried  to  discover 
that  there  had  been  special  prophecies,  revealing  his 
genius,  predicting  his  mighty  career. 

Bonaparte,  as  child  and  young  man,  deceived  all  the 
world.  No  one  could  tell  his  fortune,  none  could  fore- 
see his  greatness. 

His  early  years  were  those  of  a  poor,  shy,  hard- 
working-student, proud  and  somewhat  quiet.  He 
suffered  cruelly  the  pangs  of  ill-fortune.  Poverty 
isolated  him.  His  intense  family  feeling  and  clan- 
nishness  made  the  precarious  condition  of  those  who 
belonged  to  him  doubly  hard  to  bear. 

His  father,  Charles   Bonaparte,  or  more  precisely. 


60  Padame  gnn$-<&tnt. 

de  Buonaparte,  the  son  of  an  ancient  family  of  the 
Tuscan  nobility,  established  at  Ajaccio  for  over  two 
centuries,  was,  by  profession,  a  lawyer.  All  his  an- 
cestors had  been  gownmen.  Charles  Bonaparte  was 
one  of  the  most  ardent  partisans  of  Paoli,  the  Corsican 
patriot.  He  had  submitted  to  French  authority  when 
Paoli  left  the  island. 

Though  a  member  of  the  Corsican  Council  of  Ad- 
ministration and  highly  respected,  Charles  Bonaparte's 
means  were  small.  He  owned,  all  his  resource,  but 
one  plantation  of  vines  and  olives,  which  brought 
scarce  twelve  hundred  livres  as  rental.  It  was  not 
worth  even  that  in  his  hands. 

Later,  after  the  troubles  in  Corsica,  even  this  income 
was  gone,  and  he  saw  ruin  before  him. 

He  had  married  Letizia  Ramolini  (born  on  the 
twenty-fourth  of  August,  1749),  a  young  girl  with 
beautiful  features  and  a  profile  like  an  antique  cameo, 
who  afterwards  developed  a  singularly  acute  gift  of 
foresight  combined  with  much  firmness  and  tact. 

When,  with  the  title  of  **  Madame  M6re,"  she  sat  en- 
throned among  her  sons,  the  rulers  of  Europe,  had  she 
not  said  to  Napoleon,  who  reproached  her  for  not  spend- 
ing all  her  allowance,  "  I  am  economizing  for  you,  my 
children,  who  may  some  day  be  in  want." 

According  to  accepted  tradition,  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
son  of  Charles  and  Letizia,  was  born  August  15,  1769. 

He  was  the  second  son  of  the  Bonapartes  by  this  cal- 
culation. Another  more  plausible  story  says  that  Joseph 
was  the  younger  son.     That  he  was  born  at  Ajaccio. 


Padnme  gm$-(&tM.  61 

Napoleon,  born  on  January  7,  1768,  had,  according  to 
this,  been  born  in  Corsica. 

The  certificate  of  birth,  existing  at  the  military  school, 
and  produced  for  the  admission  of  young  Napoleon, 
bears,  plainly,  the  date  August  15,  1769  ;  but  other 
papers  quite  justify  the  confusion  which  exists  :  princi- 
pally the  marriage  certificate  of  Napoleon  and  Jose- 
phine. -  It  has  been  said  that  Josephine  had  coquettishly 
wanted  to  make  herself  younger  than  she  really  was, 
but  that  Napoleon,  to  lessen  the  distance  between  their 
ages,  had  grown  two  years  older.  He  had  probably  been 
sufficiently  gallant  to  give  his  actual  age,  and  then,  the 
motives  which  had  induced  his  parents  to  substitute  one 
certificate  for  another  were  past.  They  made  him 
younger  on  account  of  the  conditions  for  admission  to 
the  military  school  at  Brienne. 

The  elder  son  had  passed  the  age  of  ten  years. 
His  parents,  in  giving  as  his  the  birth-certificate  of 
Joseph,  two  years  his  junior  and  whose  tastes  were  not 
at  all  military,  had  thus  made  possible  the  entrance  of 
the  future  general. 

Two  circumstances  largely  influenced  the  formation 
of  his  character  and  the  bent  of  his  thought :  the  per- 
turbations of  his  native  land  and  the  distresses  of  his 
family. 

Civil  war  in  his  home,  and  poverty  at  the  paternal 
fireside,  alike  hardened  his  soul  and  embittered  his 
youth. 

He  had  been  serious  when  he  entered  the  school  at 
Brienne  :  he  came  out  sad,  and  heart-sore. 


62  Padame  gm$-(8tnt. 

His  comrades  had  made  fun  of  his  Italian  accent,  of 
his  odd  name  of  Napoleon — they  called  him  "  Paille-au- 
Nez."  They  had  insulted  his  poverty  ;  and  we  know 
how  bitter  are  these  boyish  taunts,  and  what  cruel 
wounds  they  leave  in  their  victims. 

A  good  scholar,  particularly  in  mathematics,  playing 
little  except  in  the  winter,  when,  a  precocious  strategist 
he  conducted  the  boyish  assaults,  when  snowballs 
were  hurled  at  the  ice-fortress,  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
school  at  Brienne,  he  lived  almost  unnoticed  those 
first  years  of  his  life. 

Here  he  learned  to  know  Bourrienne  the  future  miser, 
his  private  secretary,  who  repaid  the  benefits  and  in- 
dulgence of  his  friend  by  calumniating  and  traducing 
him  in  memoirs  paid  for  by  the  people  of  the  Resto- 
ration. 

From  Brienne,  he  went  to  the  Military  School,  and 
there,  again,  he  suffered  in  small  ways,  daily  bearing 
those  pin-pricks  which  do  not  kill,  but  whose  misery 
young  men  know  who  are  poor  and  do  not  complain. 

He  had  no  money,  and  not  being  able  to  join  in  the 
expensive  pleasures  of  the  sons  of  wealthy  families,  he 
kept  himself  aloof. 

This  isolation,  at  an  age  when  the  heart  is  ready  to 
expand,  helped  to  render  inscrutable  and  pitiless  him 
who  was  destined  to  become  the  man  of  bronze. 

He  had  lost  his  father,  who  died  of  a  cancer  in  the 
stomach,  at  the  age  of  thirty-nine  years,  just  after  his 
son  (Napoleon)  had  been  named,  on  September  I,  1785* 
second  lieutenant  in  the   company  of  bombardiers  of 


the  regiment  of "  la  Fere,"  in  garrison  at  Valencia. 
He  occupied  his  leisure  in  the  camp  by  writing  a 
history  of  Corsica  ;  and,  going  into  society,  he  took 
dancing  lessons  of  Professor  Dantel,  and  paid  his 
court  to  the  ladies  assembled  at  the  parlor  of  a  friend. 

His  regiment  was  sent  on  to  Lyons,  then  to  Douai. 
He  obtained  a  leave  of  absence  which  enabled  him  to 
see  his  family  at  Ajaccio,  and  after  a  trip  to  Paris, 
where  he  lived  at  the  Hotel  de  Cherbourg,  in  the  Rue 
du  Four-Saint-Honore\  he  was  ordered  to  rejoin  his 
regiment  at  Auxonne,  on  .May  i,  1788. 

Work  and  privation — for  he  li  /ed  on  milk,  having 
no  money — made  him  ill. 

To  comfort  his  mother,  a  widow  with  eight  children, 
Napoleon  took  with  him  his  young  brother,  Louis. 

He  lived  with  the  boy,  spending  at  this  time  but 
ninety-two  francs,  fifteen  centimes  a  month  ! 

Two  tiny  rooms,  without  fire  or  furnishings,  composed 
their  home.  In  one  fitted  up  with  a  cot,  a  trunk  full 
of  manuscripts,  a  chair  stuffed  with  straw  and  a  white- 
wood  table,  slept  and  worked  the  future  master  of  the 
Tuileries  and  of  Saint-Cloud.  The  future  King  of  Hol- 
land lay  in  the  other  room,  on  a  mattress  thrown  upon 
the  floor. 

Naturally,  they  had  no  servant.  Bonaparte  brushed 
the  coats,  polished  the  boots,  and  cooked  the  soup. 

Napoleon  once  alluded  to  this  period  of  his  life  to 
a  functionary,  who  complained  that  his  pay  was  insuf- 
ficient. 

"  I    knew  such   times,    monsieur,  when    I    had    the 


64  Padame  £wnit-(&tnt. 

honor  to  be  a  second  lieutenant  ;  I  breakfasted  on  dry 
bread  but  I  closed  the  door  upon  my  poverty.  I  never 
spoke  of  it  to  my  comrades." 

Poverty  keeps  a  man  pure,  and  seldom  gives  time  for 
love-affairs. 

At  that  time  Napoleon  behaved,  perhaps,  like  the 
fox  with  the  grapes  he  could  not  get,  for  he  launched 
this  anathema  against  women,  "  I  believe  love  to  be 
the  bane  of  society,  of  personal  happiness  for  men  ; 
and  I  believe  that  love  does  more  harm  than  good.'' 

The  good  Catharine,  who,  besides  washing  her 
client's  linen,  had  experienced  a  leaning  toward  him, 
before  she  met  Lefebvre,  was  not  slow  in  seeing  that 
Bonaparte  practised  always  his  severe  philosophy  of 
Auxonne. 

Raised  to  a  first  lieutenancy  of  the  Fourth  Artillery, 
Bonaparte  had  returned  to  Valencia,  in  company  with 
his  brother  Louis.  He  had  taken  up  again  his  life  as 
a  studious,  quiet,  almost  cynical  officer.  It  was  the 
dawn  of  the  Revolution.  He  showed  himself  a  warm 
partisan  cf  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  the  emancipation  of 
the  peopk'.  Then  he  became  known  as  a  revolution- 
ist. He  spoke,  he  wrote,  he  became  an  agitator  :  he 
had  himself  made  a  member  of  the  club  "  Les  Amis  de 
la  Constitution,"  whose  secretary  he  became.  He  cer- 
tainly had  much  faith.  Nor  was  he  lacking  in  aptitude. 
Indeed,  this  extraordinary  man  could  take  on  any  tone 
with  seeming  truthfulness,  and  wear  any  mask,  as  if  it 
were  his  natural  face. 

In  October,  1791,  he  asked  leave  of  absence  to  im- 


Padam*  gm$-(&ttLt,  65 

prove  his    health  and  visit   his   family.     He  went  to 
Corsica. 

There,  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  making  them  his 
partisans,  he  asked  to  be  made  head  of  a  battalion  of 
National  Guards  at  Ajaccio.  This  command  was  as- 
signed to  him  by  public  force — the  only  authority.  He 
was,  however,  hotly  opposed. 

His  chief  rival  was  named  Marius  Peraldi,  a  member 
of  a  very  influential  family. 

Bonaparte  set  to  work  feverishly  to  get  recruits. 
Ajaccio  was  divided  into  two  camps. 

The  Commissaries  of  the  *'  Constituante,"  sent  by  the 
central  power,  were  able  to  enlist,  by  their  presence,  a 
great  number  of  votes,  and  made  the  scale  turn. 

Their  chief,  Muratori,  had  settled  with  Marius  Pe- 
raldi. 

That  was  done  to  show  that  the  rival  of  Bonaparte 
was  agreeable  to  the  authorities. 

It  is  well  known  how  great  is  the  weight  of  official 
approval  in  Corsica. 

Bonaparte's  friends,  unable  to  bring  any  such  force 
to  bear,  believed  the  success  of  Peraldi  sure. 

But  the  ardent  and  tenacious  man  himself  did  not 
give  up. 

He  assembled  some  trusty  friends,  and  at  supper- 
time,  when  the  Peraldi  faction  were  at  table,  their  dining- 
room  was  entered  by  an  armed  force. 

They  aimed  at  the  guests,  and  between  two  armed 
men,  Muratori,   summoned  to  arise  and  go,  was  con- 
ducted to  the  Bonaparte  house. 
5 


66  Padame  £mi0-6*ttf. 

The  commissioner  was  more  dead  than  alive. 

Bonaparte  went  to  meet  him  smilingly,  ignoring  ths 
means  he  had  taken  to  bring  his  visitor,  and  extending 
his  hand,  said,  "  You  are  very  welcome  to  my  house. 
I  knew,  had  you  been  free,  you  would  not  be  at  the 
Peraldi's ;  be  seated  at  our  hearth,  my  dear  commis- 
sioner." 

As  his  guides,  with  their  guns,  were  still  at  the  door, 
ready  to  obey  Bonaparte's  orders,  Muratori  sat  down, 
braced  himself  against  his  luck,  and  spoke  no  word  of 
returning  to  the  Peraldi  house. 

On  the  morrow  Bonaparte  was  elected  commander 
of  the  National  Guards  of  Ajaccio. 

The  man  of  Brumaire  was  nascent  in  the  candidate 
for  the  militia.  And  the  deed  of  force  enacted  at 
Ajaccio  foretold  that  of  Saint-Cloud. 

The  situation  of  Bonaparte,  accepting  a  territorial 
command,  when  he  had  a  place  in  the  army  in  action, 
was  not  exactly  regular.  But  it  was  a  revolutionary 
period. 

It  is  certain  that,  had  times  been  different,  this  infrac- 
tion would  have  cost  him  dear. 

He  had  his  furlough  prolonged,  so  that  at  its  end  his 
term  of  service  expired. 

The  motive  which  made  him  remain  at  the  head  of 
the  Corsican  militia  when  he  had  the  position  of  lieu- 
tenant-colonel, was  neither  ambition  nor  political  fervor. 

His  military  genius  could  have  no  field  in  his  miser- 
able little  island. 

It  was  money,  always  a  question  of  money,  which  at 


Padame  gm$-(&tM.  67 

the  time  governed  the  conduct  of  this  adventurous 
youth. 

His  pay  in  the  National  Guards  was  162  livres,  twice 
the  sum  he  received  as  lieutenant  in  the  artillery. 

With  this  sum  he  would  be  enabled  to  supply  the 
many  wants  of  his  large  family  and  educate  his  brother 
Louis  properly. 

Here,  then,  was  his  motive  for  staying  at  Corsica. 
Bonaparte  was  always  more  or  less  the  victim  of  his 
family. 

We  are  told,  that,  in  taking  command  of  the  battalion 
at  Ajaccio,  he  had  not  deserted,  as  has  been  said.  The 
National  Guard  was  at  that  time,  even  in  Corsica,  in  act- 
ive service.  It  was  part  of  the  army.  Bonaparte,  to 
justify  himself,  argued,  besides,  that  by  authority  of  the 
camp-marshal  of  Rossi,  who  had  looked  into  the  regu- 
larity of  the  proceeding,  he  had  conformed  to  the  decree 
of  the  Assembly  of  December  17,  1791,  which  authorized 
officers  of  the  active  army  to  serve  in  the  ranks  of  the 
National  Guard. 

Deposed  by  Colonel  Maillard,  Bonaparte  went  to 
Paris  to  justify  his  conduct  and  to  plead  his  cause  before 
the  minister  of  war. 

He  hoped  to  be  re-instated.  But  while  awaiting  the 
decision  he  lived  in  Paris  alone,  yet  ever  busy. 

He  fared  badly  at  his  home,  and  dined,  frequently, 
with  M.  and  Madame  Permon,  whom  he  had  known 
at  Valencia,  and  whose  daughter  was  destined  to  marry 
Junot  and  become  Duchess  of  Abrantes.  Later,  Bona- 
parte, thought  of  asking,  himself,  the  hand  of  Madame 


68  gftadame  gnn$-(8tnt. 

Permon,  who  had  been  left  a  widow  with  considerable 
wealth. 

In  spite  of  his  economy,  he  had,  at  this  time,  some 
debts. 

He  owed  fifteen  francs  to  his  host,  and,  as  we  have 
seen,  forty-five  francs  to  his  laundress,  Catharine  Sans- 
G6ne. 

His  friends  were  few.  He  lived  in  close  intimacy 
with  Junot,  Marmont,  and  Bourrienne. 

All  three,  like  himself,  were  penniless,  but  rich  in 
hopes. 

On  the  morning  of  August  ioth  Bonaparte  had  risen 
at  the  sound  of  the  tocsin,  and,  simply  as  a  spectator  of 
the  fray,  had  gone  to  Fauveletde  Bourrienne,  the  elder 
brother  of  his  friend,  who  kept  a  bric-a-brac  shop  and 
loan  office  at  the  Place  du  Carrousel.  He  needed 
money,  and  did  not  want  to  be  quite  penniless  on  a 
day  of  revolution  ;  so  he  took  his  watch  as  a  pawn  to 
Fauvelet,  who  loaned  him  fifteen  francs  on  it. 

From  the  shop  of  the  money-lender,  whence  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  escape,  the  battle  having  begun, 
Bonaparte  could  follow  all  the  movements  of  the  fight. 

At  noon,  when  the  people's  victory  was  assured,  he 
regained  his  lodgings. 

He  went  pensively  homeward,  saddened  by  the  sight 
of  the  corpses,  sickened  by  the  smell  of  blood. 

Many  years  after,  the  great  butcher  of  Europe,  for- 
getting the  terrible  outpouring  of  his  people's  blood, 
and  the  mountains  of  corpses  accumulated  beneath  his 
conquering  feet,  remembered  again  this  horrible  sight. 


Padam*  $att0-<£>*tt*.  69 

On  the  rocks  of  St.  Helena  he  expressed  at  once,  his 
indignation  and  his  emotion  at  the  memory  of  the 
innumerable  victims  of  the  Swiss  and  the  Chevaliers 
du  Poignard,  and  the  sights  he  witnessed  when  he  was 
returning  to  his  hotel,  on  that  bloody  morning  of  the 
tenth  of  August. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   HANDSOME   SERGEANT. 

SUCH,  then,  was  the  man,  as  yet  unknown,  obscure, 
mysterious,  whom  Catharine  Sans-Ggne  went  to  find  in 
his  little  room  in  a  furnished  house,  where  he  waited 
impatiently  for  fortune,  the  capricious  and  tardy  god- 
dess who  had  not  yet  decided  to  knock  at  his  door. 

Everything  seemed  against  him.  Nothing  went 
right.     Ill-luck  pursued  him. 

On  his  return  to  his  hotel,  on  that  bloody  morning  of 
the  tenth  of  August,  he  had  sought,  in  work,  rest  for 
his  mind,  distraction  from  his  cares,  and  forgetfulness 
of  that  tragic  spectacle  which  he  had  witnessed  from 
the  pawnbroker's  shop. 

He  had  unfolded  a  geographical  chart,  and  had  set 
himself  to  study  carefully  the  region  of  the  south,  the 
border  towns  of  the  Mediterranean,  Marseilles,  and, 
above  all,  the  port  of  Toulon,  where  the  royalist  reac- 
tion was  going  on,  and  which  an  English  fleet  menaced. 

From  time  to  time  he  pushed  the  map  away,  buried 
his  head  in  his  hands,  and  dreamed. 


70  Padame  J?an;5i-0*tt*. 

His  ardent  thought  excited  him.  Like  a  traveller  in 
the  dark,  he  saw,  rising  before  him,  visions  and  prodig- 
ious mirages. 

Vanquished  cities,  where  he  entered  as  conqueror, 
mounted  on  a  white  horse,  amid  the  enthusiasm  of 
crowds,  and  the  acclamation  of  soldiers.  A  bridge, 
where  shots  rang  out,  and  which  he  crossed,  colors  in 
hand  ;  cheering  his  forces  ;  driving  back  the  enemy. 
Strange  horsemen,  in  gold-embroidered  coats,  who 
brandished  cimeters  aloft,  around  him,  invulnerable, 
and  who,  at  length  stopped,  threw  down  their  arms, 
and  bowed  their  turbaned  heads  before  his  tent. 
Then,  the  triumphal  marches,  among  hordes  of  van- 
quished soldiers,  in  strange  lands,  afar  and  ever-chang- 
ing. The  intense  southern  sun  burning  on  his  head, 
the  northern  snows  dusted  over  his  cloak — then  feasts, 
defiles,  processions, — kings  subdued,  prostrated;  queens 
flinging  themselves  at  his  feet, — the  intoxication  of 
glory — the  apotheosis  of  triumph  ! 

All  this  fantastic  dream  was  reared  but  to  vanish 
again,  when  he  lifted  his  burning  face  from  his  hands. 

Opening  his  eyes,  the  plain  and  ridiculous  reality  of 
his  room  at  the  hotel  was  apparent. 

A  little  smile  showed  itself  on  his  lips,  and  his  prac- 
tical common  sense  coming  to  the  top,  he  chased  the 
deceptive  phantom  away.  Ceasing  to  see  the  mirage, 
he  looked  with  clear  eyes  at  that  which  was  before 
him,  and  examined  with  cold  reasoning  into  the  uncer- 
tain situation,  the  dreadful  present,  the  probably  worse 
future. 


Padam*  ^ang-^ttc.  71 

His  position  was  deplorable,  and  no  change  seemed 
probable. 

No  money.  No  work.  The  minister  deaf  to  his  en- 
treaties.   The  courts  hostile.    No  friend.     No  protector. 

He  saw  himself  threatened  with  an  unavoidable  ill : 
black  want  and  weakness. 

His  ambitious  projects  were  dissipated  in  the  brutal 
wind  of  actual  life — his  hope  for  the  future  fell  like 
castles  of  cards. 

He  began  to  feel  the  cold  shudder  of  his  disillusion. 

What  should  he  do  ?  For  a  moment  he  thought  of 
passing  into  a  street  in  the  quarter  of  "  Nouvelle- 
France,"  then  in  construction,  of  hiring  some  houses 
and  letting  out  furnished  rooms. 

He  dreamed,  too,  of  leaving  France  and  taking  serv- 
ice in  the  Turkish  army. 

Then  he  said  to  himself  that  he  had  something  in 
his  brain  ;  and  he  felt  the  impetuous  blood  coursing 
through  his  veins,  like  the  swift  tide  of  the  Rhine. 

Then  he  turned  again  to  his  task,  applying  himself 
to  a  topographical  study  of  the  basin  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, his  birthplace,  where  the  cannon  was  soon  to 
thunder. 

Oh,  that  he  might  be  there,  where  they  were  fight- 
ing, where  they  were  going  to  defend  the  nation,  and 
lead  his  artillery  against  the  English  ! 

That  dream  was  possible  !  If  he  lived  a  dreamer's 
life,  it  was  because  the  hard-working  Corsican  was  as 
yet  alone  in  the  world,  without  influence,  without  en) 
■one  who  believed  in  him. 


,2  Padame  £nn$-(&tnt. 

Again,  to  overcome  the  discouragement  which  began 
to  creep  to  his  heart — a  subtle  poison  and  a  deadly  one 
which  can  freeze  the  most  indomitable  energy — he  re- 
turned to  the  study  of  his  chart,  and  took  up  the  thread 
of  his  work,  interrupted  by  his  dream. 

At  this  moment  there  came  two  light  taps  on  his 
door. 

He  trembled.  A  sharp  pain  shot  to  his  heart.  The 
bravest  men,  when  penniless,  are  easily  frightened  by  a 
sudden  knock.  They  wait,  with  head  erect,  and  eye 
serene,  for  Death  to  strike  them.  But  they  are  weak 
and  trembling  at  the  thought  of  a  creditor  who  may 
come,  bill  in  hand. 

There  came  a  second,  somewhat  louder,  knock. 

•*  Perhaps  it  is  old  Maureard  coming  up  with  his 
bill,"  thought  Bonaparte,  blushing. 

••  Come  in,"  he  said  slowly. 

A  moment  passed. 

And  then  he  repeated  impatiently,   *'  Well,   come  !  " 

He  thought  in  surprise,  "  That  is  not  the  landlord. 
Junot  or  Bourrienne  would  not  wait  before  entering  ; 
who  can  have  come  here  to-day  ?  "  He  was  less  un- 
easy, and  more  anxious,  for  he  never  had  any  visitors. 

He  lifted  his  head,  inquisitively,  to  see  who  might 
enter. 

The  door  opened,  the  key  having  been  left  in  the  lock, 
and  a  young  man  advanced,  wearing  the  uniform  of  a 
foot-soldier. 

A  gentle  youth,  fresh,  rosy  and  delicate,  still  too 
young  for  a  beard,  with  dark,  intense  eyes. 


Paflam*  £att0-<Sw*.  73 

On  his  sleeve  he  wore  the  stripes  of  a  sergeant,  evi- 
dently just  acquired. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ? "  asked  Bonaparte. 
«« You  have  probably  made  a  mistake." 

The  young  sergeant  gave  a  military  salute. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  address  Captain  Bonaparte,  of 
the  artillery,  have  I  not  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  soft  voice. 

"  The  same— ~-what  business  brings  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  called  Rene\"  said  the  young  soldier,  with  a 
slight  hesitation. 

"  Ren6 — so  short  ?  "  said  Bonaparte,  fixing  his  pierc- 
ing glance  on  the  stranger,  a  glance  which  penetrated 
to  the  very  soul. 

"  Yes,  Rene\"  repeated  the  visitor,  with  a  little  more 
assurance,  "in  the  regiment  of  volunteers  from  Ma. 
yenne-et-Loire,  where  I  am  serving  ;  they  call  me  « The 
Handsome  Sergeant." 

"  You  deserve  that  name,"  rejoined  Bonaparte  smil- 
ing, "  though  you  have  rather  too  gentle  and  foppish  a 
manner  for  a  soldier. 

"  You  must  judge  me  under  fire,  my  dear  captain,'* 
said  the  gay  volunteer,  proudly. 

Bonaparte  made  a  grimace,  as  if  it  had  touched  his 
sore  spot.  He  growled,  "  Under  fire  !  Will  any  one 
ever  see  me  there  ?  " 

Then  he  answered,  looking  carefully  at  his  unnoticed 
visitor,  "  Come  to  the  point.  What  do  you  want  with 
me  ?     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  ** 

"  This,  Captain,  is  the  object  of  my  visit ;  my  regi- 
ment, under  M.  de  Beaurepaire " 


74  Paflame  ^ang-dfotw. 

"  A  brave  man  !  An  energetic  soldier  !  I  know  and 
value  him,"  interrupted  Bonaparte.  "  Where  is  your 
regiment  now?"  He  asked  it  with  marked  interest, 
without  ceasing  to  observe  narrowly  the  sergeant,  who 
seemed  so  young  and  evidently  so  timid. 

"At  Paris.  Oh,  for  a  few  days  only  ;  we  came  on 
our  way  irom  Angers,  and  we  have  asked  to  be  the 
first  men  honored  with  orders  for  the  frontier.  We 
are  to  go  to  the  help  of  Verdun." 

**  That  is  well !  Ah,  you  are  fortunate  to  be  able  to 
go  into  battle,"  said  Bonaparte,  with  a  sigh  ;  and  he 
added,  «« But,  you  want  what  of  me  ?  " 

"  Captain,  I  have  a  brother  Marcel." 

"  Your  brother's  name  is  Marcel  ? "  Bonaparte 
asked,  in  a  defiant  tone. 

"  Marcel  Ren6,"  the  handsome  sergeant  hastened  to 
say,  somewhat  abashed,  and  lowering  his  eyes  under 
the  severe  and  inquisitorial  glance  of  the  artillery  cap- 
tain. "  My  brother  is  a  doctor,  he  is  detailed  as  aide, 
in  the  Fourth  Artillery  regiment  at  Valencia." 

"  My  regiment — my  late  regiment,  rather." 

"  Yes,  Captain,  that  is  why  I  hoped,  having  heard 
that  you  were  to  be  found  in  Paris.  I  learned  that 
from  one  of  the  National  Guards  whom  I  met  this  morn- 
ing, at  the  fight  of  the  Tuileries,  Sergeant  Lefebvre 
who  knows  you." 

«« Valiant  Lefebvre  !  Yes,  I  know  him,  too  ;  what 
did  Lefebvre  tell  you  ?  " 

**  Thatyou  might,  perhaps — by  word  to  the  commander 
—by  your  protection — get  my  brother  exchanged." 


ptodam*  £atti$-<Bm.  75 

Bonaparte  thought  deeply,  without  taking  his  eyes 
from  the  handsome  sergeant,  who  grew  more  and  more 
troubled. 

Embarrassed,  anxious  to  prefer  his  request  as  quickly 
as  possible,  for  it  seemed  to  excite  him  strangely,  the 
volunteer  continued,  hurrying  on  his  words  :  "  I  would 
that  my  brother  might  be  sent  from  the  artillery  regi- 
ment, which  is  at  Valencia,  to  the  Army  of  the  North. 
He  would  be  with  me — I  should  see  him — we  could 
meet — we  could  be  together — if  he  should  be  wounded, 
I  would  be  there — I  might  even  tend  and  save  him. 
Oh  !  Captain,  help  us  both  to  that  great  blessing  !  If 
we  can  be  together,  we  will  bless  you,  will  be  ever 
mindful  of  your  kindness." 

And,  finishing  his  speech,  the  young  man's  voice  was 
husky,  one  would  have  thought,  with  suppressed  sobs. 

Bonaparte  had  risen. 

He  went  straight  to  the  sergeant  and  said  to  him  in 
his  jerky  way,  "  To  begin  with,  my  boy,  I  can  do 
nothing  for  you,  nor  for  him  you  call  your  brother. 
Lefebvre  should  have  told  you  that  ;  I  am  without 
employment,  without  commission.  They  have  broken 
my  sword.  My  recommendation  to  the  Fourth  Artillery 
would  be  useless — worse  than  nothing.  I  know  no  one 
in  Paris.  I  live  alone.  I  am  myself  looking  for  help. 
I  however  know  the  brother  of  an  influential  man,  an  old 
deputy,  called  Maximilian  Robespierre  ;  he  lives  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Honor^,  very  near  here.  You  can  go  and 
find  him  for  me  ;  perhaps  he  can  get  for  you  what  would 
be  refused  to  me  ;  go  and  see  young  Robespierre  ! " 


76  Patlame  £ans-$cttf. 

"  Oh,  thanks,  Captain,  may  I  some  day  be  able  to 
prove  my  gratitude  !  " 

Bonaparte  raised  his  finger,  half  smiling,  half 
serious,  and  said  slowly  :  "  It  seems  to  me,  my  pretty 
Sergeant,  that  you  have  changed  the  usual  dress 
of  your  sex  to  enter  the  army  and  follow  the  fortunes  of 
war." 

The  pretty  sergeant  answered  tremblingly  :  "  Ah, 
pardon,  Captain,  do  not  betray  me  ;  be  generous ; 
respect  my  disguise  ;  do  not  kill  me  in  divulging  my 
deceit.     Yes,  I  am  a  woman  ! " 

"  I  suspected  it  at  once,"  said  Bonaparte,  good- 
humoredly.  "  But  your  comrades,  your  chiefs,  do  they 
see  nothing  ?  " 

"  There  are  many  young  men  in  the  regiment.  Not 
one  has  a  beard,  and  besides,  Captain,  I  do  my  duty 
seriously  !  "  said  the  young  warrior  proudly. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  You  went  voluntarily.  And 
you  wish  to  be  joined  in  the  Army  of  the  North,  if  I 
understand  your  wish,  by  this  doctor — this  aide,  called 
Marcel — who  is,  surely,  more  to  you  than  a  brother, 
for  whom,  no  doubt,  you  enlisted.  Oh,  I  do  not  ask 
your  history  !  Keep  your  secret  !  You  have  interested 
me,  and  if  I  can  serve  you,  count  on  me.  Go  and  see 
young  Robespierre.  Tell  him  his  friend,  Bonaparte, 
sent  you." 

And  he  extended  his  hand  to  the  pretty  sergeant,  who 
took  it  with  transports  of  joy. 

The  captain  saw  Rene"e  go  out  radiant. 

His  face  clouded  a  moment,  he  sighed  enviously. 


"They  love  each  other,  and  they  want  to  fight  side  by 
side  for  their  country.     They  are  fortunate." 

And  the  melancholy  look  came  over  his  face  again. 

He  sat  down  at  the  table,  passed  his  hand  over  the 
chart,  and  pensively  considered  at  length  the  city  of 
Toulon,  the  great  maritime  port  of  the  south,  saying 
excitedly  :  ••  Oh,  if  I  could  fight  the  English  !  for  I  shall 
fight  them — there  !  there  !  " 

And  his  feverish  finger  pointed,  on  the  map  spread 
before  him,  to  a  place  unknown,  visible  for  him  alone, 
where  he  destroyed,  in  thought,  the  English  fleet. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  OATH   UNDER  THE  POPLARS. 

The  Count  de  Surg&res,  whose  chateau,  near  Laval, 
reflected  its  crumbling  old  turrets  in  the  Mayenne,  had, 
at  the  first  mutterings  of  the  Revolution,  sought  shelter 
beyond  the  Rhine. 

He  had  encamped  at  Treves,  near  Coblenz,  resolved 
to  watch  the  course  of  events  as  a  quiet  spectator. 

Nominally,  he  had  taken  service  in  the  army  of  the 
princes  ;  but,  exempt  on  account  of  his  years  and  his 
evident  infirmities,  though  he  had  just  passed  his  fiftieth 
year,  the  Count  de  Surgeres  was  chiefly  devoted  to  high 
living  and  to  watching  events  quietly,  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  royal  and  imperial  armies,  in  the  little 
Rhenish  town. 


78  padame  <^att$-©*tte. 

The  step  he  had  taken  in  leaving  home  was  due  not 
from  fear  of  the  patriots,  nor  for  love  of  the  princes. 

The  count,  left  a  childless  widower  after  a  few  short 
years  of  marriage,  had  for  a  long  time  past  had  a  liaison 
in  secret  with  the  wife  of  a  neighboring  gentleman,  an 
ardent  royalist,  who  talked,  after  the  night  of  the  4th 
of  August,  about  taking  arms,  having  the  tocsin  sounded, 
and  calling  upon  the  country  folk  to  defend  the  church 
and  the  fleur-de-lys. 

M.  de  Surgeres,  in  consideration  of  his  intimacy  with 
his  neighbor,  had  no  recourse  left  him  but  to  follow 
his  lead.  Yet  his  chivalrous  tasks  were  peaceful  ones, 
limited  to  paying  court  to  the  ladies  ;  he  left  for  lovers 
of  brutal  sports  the  honors  of  war. 

Besides,  he  began  to  grow  weary  of  his  slavery  to 
love.  The  lady  of  his  thoughts  had  not  only  grown 
heavier  with  age  ;  of  yore  so  trim,  so  elegant,  so  tender, 
so  poetically  sylph-like,  she  was  now  robust  and  mas- 
sively square,  with  a  formidably  large  figure,  and  she 
lay  heavily  on  his  soul.  Of  all  ponderous  bodies,  the 
very  heaviest  is  a  woman  one  has  ceased  to  love. 

Thus  thought  the  Count  de  Surgeres,  a  man  of  wit,  a 
votary  of  pleasure  ;  but  hating  reproaches,  tears,  jeal- 
ousy, and  threats.  Of  independent,  somewhat  philo- 
sophical nature,  he  had,  while  a  youth  at  Paris,  been 
among  the  Encyclopaedists,  and  this  independence  lent 
itself  ill  to  subjection.  The  fetters  of  the  adulterer  seemed 
to  him  insupportable. 

If  he  had  been  patient  and  kept,  with  the  Marquis  de 
Louvigne*,  the  tiresome  attitude  of  a  titled  lover,  it  was 


because  he  grew  very  tired  of  his  own  domain,  and  was 
too  poor  to  live  at  court,  and  because  the  marquise  was 
the  only  woman  he  could  make  love  to  in  any  of  the 
neighboring  chateaux. 

To  find  a  rival  for  her  he  would  have  had  to  put  him- 
self out  to  look  for  a  gentle  chatelaine  in  some  distant 
manor  or  to  lower  himself  to  the  town's  folk  and  find  a 
lady  in  the  town.  M.  de  Surgfcres  wisely  contented 
himself  with  the  good  fortune  which  he  found  in  taking 
up  arms. 

But  events  were  coming,  and  it  was  partly  the  heroic 
attempts  of  the  marquis,  who  absolutely  wanted  to  force 
him  into  the  woods,  to  make  war  on  the  hedges,  and 
partly  the  desire  of  the  marquis  to  follow  the  example 
of  the  Duchesses  of  Longueville,  in  that  possibly  terrible 
game,  in  riding  along  the  highways,  a  white  cockade 
in  her  hat,  and  pistols  in  her  belt,  that  finally  decided 
the  count  to  take  the  way  of  the  emigrant. 

That  resolution  had  a  double  advantage  in  leaving 
no  doubt  of  her  sentiment  of  fidelity  to  the  king,  and  at 
the  same  time  delivering  him  from  his  fleshy  Amazon 
and  from  the  gentleman  who  was  over-fond  of  ambus- 
cades in  the  woods. 

He  was  alone,  and  comparatively  free.  He  announced 
his  departure,  one  fine  morning,  and  hurried  off,  pre- 
tending that  he  had  received  a  pressing  message  from 
the  Count  de  Provence,  asking  him  to  join  him  afar,  in 
great  haste. 

In  his  fear  that  the  marquis  should  renounce  his 
sylvan  warfare,  and  above  all  that  the  marquis  would 


So  gftadaw*  gm$-(&tm. 

desire  to  gallop  across  the  plains  with  him,  the  count 
added  maliciously  that  the  Count  of  Provence  had 
sent  his  approval  of  the  faithful  Louvigne*,  for  his 
zeal  for  loyalty  to  the  crown,  and  the  provinces  of  the 
West. 

Charmed  with  this  mark  of  royal  confidence  the  mar- 
quis sped  his  friend  onward. 

The  marquise  wept  a  little,  but,  quite  consoled  at  the 
idea  of  going  to  war,  of  wearing  a  hat  and  white  cock- 
ade, and  of  having  a  gun  on  the  saddle  of  the  mighty 
charger  who  should  bear  her,  she  smiled  through  her 
tears  when  the  Count  de  Surgeres,  making  his  adieux, 
in  her  husband's  presence,  asked  permission  to  kiss 
her. 

When  he  bent  his  lips  to  kiss  her,  though  somewhat 
kept  back  by  the  mountain  of  flesh  that  surrounded  her. 
Surgeres  found  time  to  say  in  her  ear  this  sentence. 

"  Take  care  of  Renee.  I  shall  go  and  bid  her  good- 
bye." 

The  marquise  made  an  affirmative  motion  with  her 
head,  indicating  that  she  had  heard  and  would  remem- 
ber his  injunction. 

The  count,  light,  joyous  and  free,  made  a  last  sign 
from  his  seat  on  horseback  to  his  friend  the  marquis, 
who  was  quite  taken  up  with  plans  in  which  he  went 
out  with  his  farmers,  waiting  for  stray  soldiers  of  the 
Republic,  or  going  out  in  small  troops.  Then  the  count 
rode  to  a  turn  in  the  Tougeres  road,  opposite  a  white 
house,  dainty  and  decked  with  vines,  which  was  called 
f  La  Garderie." 


i&adam*  gnn$-(&tnt.  Si 

There,  in  days  gone  by,  had  been  a  meeting-place 
for  hunters,  a  post  for  the  guards  of  the  Lords  of 
Mayenne. 

The  count  checked  his  horse  beside  the  fence  en- 
closing the  court,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  the  little 
house. 

He  sprang  to  the  ground,  frightening  and  chasing 
the  chickens  scratching  in  the  grass,  and  the  ducks 
swimming  in  the  middle  of  a  pond  which  was  half 
covered  with  greenish  slime. 

A  dog  barked. 

"Peace!  Peace!  Rammoneau,"  said  a  strong 
voice  ;  "do  you  not  know  our  good  master  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  Father  La  Bris6e.  What  news  at  La 
Garderie  ? " 

"No  news,  sir,"  said  the  old  keeper,  standing  in  his 
doorway,  dressed  in  his  velvet  coat,  booted,  with  knife 
in  his  belt,  ready  to  bring  out  his  dogs  for  the  chase, 
and  to  cock  his  gun  at  his  game  at  sunset. 

Inside,  everything  was  scrupulously  clean  and  bright, 
scoured  to  shining,  in  kitchen  and  dining-room  ;  the 
brass  on  the  hunting-horns  shone,  beside  riding  whips, 
boars'  tusks,  antlers,  stags'  heads,  foxes'  tails,  etc., 
which  decorated  the  walls. 

"  Will  monseigneur  do  me  the  honor  to  come  in 
and  rest  a  little  and  have  a  mug  of  cider  ?  " 

"  That  ought  not  to  be  refused,  and  at  another  time  ; 
but  to-day,  my  good  La  Brisge,  it  is  impossible.  I  am 
going  away  on  a  long  journey." 

La  Bris6e  made  a  movement  to  show  he  was  sorry. 
6 


%2  Padam*  £nn$-<Seut. 

"  Ah,  monseigneur  is  going  away,"  he  said,  "  at  such 
a  time,  too.     What  is  to  become  of  us  ?  " 

"I  am  coming  back,  my  old  La  Brise"e — I  am  going 
on  a  journey — simply  a  pleasure  tour." 

Monseigneur  can  go  and  come  as  he  likes,"  said  the 
old  keeper  resignedly  ;  "  has  monsieur  the  count  any 
orders  to  give  me  for  the  time  he  is  away  ?  "  he  added  in 
his  usual  tone,  as  a  submissive  servant. 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,  La  Bris6e  ;  the  right  of  hunt- 
ing will  presently  be  abolished  and  will  leave  you  at 
leisure." 

La  Bris6e  made  a  tragic  gesture,  and  sighed. 

"  It  is  the  abomination  of  desolation.     If  one  could  be 

allowed  to  suppress "    But  he  stopped,  remembering 

that  his  master  was  there,  and  the  old  man,  at  heart  a 
partisan  of  all  the  reforms  of  the  Revolution,  save  in 
what  concerned  the  chase,  closed  his  remarks  exclaim- 
ing, «'  suppress  the  killing  of  game  ?  That  should  never 
be  done." 

"  You  will  see — I  should  say,  we  and  many  others 
will  see,  La  Brise"e — But  let  us  speak  of  that  which  is 
here.     Where  is  Ren6e  ?  " 

"  Mile.  Ren6e  is  with  my  wife,  very  near  here,  at  the 
farm  of  Verbois.  They  will  not  be  long — I  expect  them 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

«■  I  cannot  wait — I  must  sleep  at  Rennes  to-night. 
Kiss  Ren6e  for  me.  Adieu,  my  good  La  Bris6e.  I  shall 
return  ! — I  shall  return  !  " 

The  Count  de  Surgeres  rode  off,  making  a  sign 
of  farewell  to  his  keeper.     He  sprang  lightly  and  nimbly 


i&adame  £att0-<*fctw.  $3 

to  his  saddle.  The  idea  of  a  tender  scene  with  Renfie 
had  tormented  him  until  now.  He  hated  these  effusions 
of  love. 

It  was  not  that  he  was  quite  incapable  of  tenderness. 
Ren6e  was  his  daughter.  The  child  of  his  amowrs 
with  the  Marquise  de  Louvigne\  He  had,  for  this 
child  of  a  passion  long  since  cold,  a  sort  of  mild  affec- 
tion. He  had  undoubtedly  looked  after  her,  but  from 
afar ;  and  though  he  had  not  spared  in  money  and 
gifts,  he  had  been  farless  lavish  in  his  caresses. 

As  she  had  been  born,  happily  for  all  parties,  while 
the  Marquis  de  Louvigne*  was  away  at  a  convention  of 
gentlemen  which  met  at  Rennes,  Ren6e  had  been  con- 
fided to  the  care  of  La  Bris6e  and  his  wife. 

The  child  had  been  brought  up  quietly,  never  seeing, 
save  from  afar  and  by  chance  on  a  walk,  her  father, 
and  more  rarely  still  her  mother,  the  Marquise  de 
Louvigng,  both  of  whom,  in  the  presence  of  others, 
farm-hands,  or  curious  villagers,  refrained  from  show- 
ing any  special  interest  in  her. 

She  did  not  know  her  true  parentage,  and  believed 
herself  the  child  of  La  Brisge  and  his  worthy  but  un- 
aristocratic  consort. 

The  count  and  the  marquise,  one  the  greatest  lady 
in  the  neighborhood,  the  other  the  master  of  the  estate 
where  La  Brisge  was  keeper,  allowed  themselves  to  be 
suspected  in  nothing,  not  showing  in  their  occasional 
visits  the  real  tie  which  bound  them  to  her. 

Thanks  to  the  liberality  of  the  count,  Ren6e  had 
enjoyed  an  excellent  education,   and  was  accustomed 


84  §#adam*  £m$-(&ent. 

to  maintaining  the  independence  to  be  found  in 
daughters  of  a  good  family. 

She  had  learned  to  ride  ;  and  galloped,  fearlessly 
and  quite  alone,  across  field  and  wood,  on  a  little  mare, 
taken  from  the  chateau  stables.  Father  La  Bris€e 
had  taken  her  in  his  journeys  to  the  woods,  and  the  girl 
had  become  a  good  huntress. 

One  day,  when  La  Bris^e,  having  finished  his  lunch 
in  the  woods,  was  sleeping  in  the  shade  of  a  beech,  like 
one  of  Virgil's  shepherds,  she  had  gently  stolen  his 
gun.  Very  softly  she  had  gone  away,  avoiding  the 
crackling  of  dead  leaves  under  her  feet,  and  the  break- 
ing of  dry  branches. 

She  reached  a  clearing  where  the  hunting  hound, 
seeing  her  with  a  gun,  and  not  looking  to  see  who 
carried  it,  started  out  in  quest  of  game.  He  started 
a  pheasant,  and  Rene"e  anxiously  raised  her  piece  to 
her  shoulder,  aimed — fired. 

With  a  heavy  flapping  of  wings  the  bird  fell. 

Ren6e  stood  an  instant  stunned  ;  though  assured  by 
the  sound  of  her  shot,  she  looked  with  surprise  not  un- 
mixed with  pride  at  this  evident  victory,  upon  her 
game,  which  lay  motionless  upon  the  damp  grass,  its 
feathers  ruffled,  its  beak  open. 

The  dog  had  sprung  upon  the  prey,  and  wagging 
his  tail,  brought  it  to  her  in  his  mouth. 

With  a  caress  Renfie  repaid  the  beast  for  his  prey, 
which  she  took  from  him  ;  and,  like  a  miser  with  his 
treasure,  she  hid  her  game  in  the  pocket  of  the  man's 
coat  she  wore  for  hunting,  and  went  back  to  find  La 


gjftadame  g%n$-(&m.  85 

Brisee,  awakened  by  the  shot,  and  much  excited.  He 
was  looking  for  his  gun,  which  he  believed  had  been 
stolen  by  poachers. 

First  he  scolded  Rene"e,  then  made  up  for  it  by 
praising  her  courage,  this  budding  huntress  ! 

He  was  sorry  to  have  been  deprived  of  his  gun 
while  sleeping,  but  proud  of  the  good  use  to  which  his 
pupil  had  put  the  weapon. 

After  that  Ren6e  accompanied  him  on  his  expedi- 
tions, whenever  it  was  feasible,  and  frequently  shot  her 
rabbit  or  roebuck. 

So  Renge  had  grown  familiar  with  much  tramping, 
with  fatigue,  with  powder,  and  with  arms. 

Frequently,  in  their  hunting,  her  gun  under  her 
arm,  she  had  gone  alone,  far  from  Father  La  Bris6e, 
who  was  busy  watching  the  snares  he  had  set  for 
game.  On  such  days,  hares,  pheasants  and  partridges 
might  safely  sit  and  plume  themselves,  even  call — • 
Ren6e  paid  no  attention  to  her  gun,  nor  to  the  appeals 
of  her  dog.  Then  she  struck  the  plain  beside  a  mill 
where,  near  the  rippling  stream  that  fed  it,  there  stood, 
behind  a  grove  of  poplars,  a  little  verdant  cot,  made  of 
wild  plants,  vines,  grasses,  ivy,  climbing  and  intertwin- 
ing in  a  green  network. 

It  was  not  only  the  freshness  of  this  pleasant  retreat, 
nor  the  murmur  of  the  stream  over  the  stones,  nor  yet 
the  deep  calm  under  the  heavy  shade,  that  attracted  her. 

For  Marcel,  the  miller's  son,  these  silent  banks  of 
the  river  had  an  equal  attraction. 

As  often  as  possible,  these  two  young  people  met  there. 


86  P»dam*  jSawsi-Gktt*. 

Book  in  hand,  the  young  man  walked  slowly  to  where 
he  saw  Renge  coming  from  the  chase,  and  met  her. 

He  pretended  to  read,  as  she  pretended  to  hunt.  But 
their  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  and  book  and  game 
were  only  pretexts. 

Ren6e  was  seventeen,  and  Marcel  was  entering  his 
twentieth  year. 

The  son  of  a  well-to-do  countryman,  and  the  nephew 
of  the  curate,  Marcel  had  learned  a  little  Latin  and 
they  had  thought  he  would  take  Orders ;  but  the 
Church  did  not  attract  him.  Filled  with  the  charms 
of  nature,  loving  woods,  and  fields,  and  flowers,  seek- 
ing to  study  the  secret  of  universal  life  and  to  find 
out  its  mystery,  Marcel  had  shown  a  great  aptitude 
for  natural  science. 

With  the  sanction  of  his  uncle,  the  curate,  he  had 
been  able  to  take  some  lessons  in  anatomy  with  an  old 
doctor,  a  friend  of  the  priest's.  By  dint  of  study  and 
patient  labor  he  had  prepared  for  his  first  degree, 
which  he  had  taken  at  Rennes. 

He  was  now  a  physician,  and  in  his  projects  for  the 
future,  sketched  beside  the  babbling  stream  with  Rene"e, 
who,  for  him,  neglected  the  chase,  and  used  her  gun 
only  to  explain  her  long  absence,  he  saw  himself  first 
at  Rennes,  later  at  Paris,  where  alone  he  could  follow 
'  science  and  achieve  fame  and  fortune,  practising  the 
great  art  of  healing,  which  the  ancients  believed  to 
be  a  divine  attribute. 

Peaceful  and  sentimental  was  Marcel ;  and  his  read- 
ings  of  Rousseau,  made  him  something  of  a  philos- 


<pher.  He  worshipped  nature,  and  his  profession  of 
faith  was  that  of  the  vicaire  Savoyard.  His  thought, 
enlarged  beyond  the  circle  of  actualities  and  things  im- 
mediately around  him,  embraced  all  humanity.  He 
believed  himself  a  citizen  of  the  world,  and  held  that 
the  entire  globe  was  the  fatherland  of  humanity. 
Several  works  of  Anacharsis  Clootz  had  fallen  into  his 
hands,  and  formed  his  doctrine  of  a  universal  Re- 
public. 

In  this  projected  course,  the  young  cosmopolitan 
physician  did  not  dream  of  going  alone  to  Paris  and 
glory. 

Ren6e  was  to  go  with  him,  Ren€e,  who  was  to  be 
his  bride  ;  for  these  two  young  people,  without  ever 
having  said  so  plainly,  loved  each  other. 

They  were  nearly  of  an  age,  they  cared  for  each 
other,  and  their  fortunes  seemingly  were  alike  ;  so  there 
seemed  no  possibility  of  anything  which  should  mar 
their  happiness. 

Marcel,  son  of  the  miller,  whose  lord  was  the  Count 
de  Surgeres,  did  not  descend  in  the  scale  by  marrying 
her  he  believed  to  be  the  daughter  of  the  count's  chief- 
keeper,  father  La  Brise'e. 

Good  Mother  Toinon,  the  keeper's  wife,  had  surprised 
their  secret,  one  day  when  she  had  gone  to  get  grass 
for  her  rabbits,  on  the  river-bank. 

She  had  not  scolded  much,  but  she  had  surprised 
Marcel  a  little,  even  in  her  reticence  and  slight  grum- 
blings ;  for  Mother  Toinon  had  insinuated  that  an  ob- 
stacle existed  on  Rente's  side. 


88  gj&adame  £m$-(&m. 

The  miOer's  son,  whose  well-to-do  father  might  have 
had  some  opposition  to  his  marriage  with  a  simple 
keeper's  daughter,  did  not  guess  what  La  Bris6e  wife 
meant.  The  keeper  had  no  place,  however,  in  her  vague 
remarks.  Was  his  consent  nothing,  or  was  there  no 
reason  to  be  uneasy  ?  Marcel  did  not  place  much 
credence  in  the  remarks  of  the  keeper's  wife,  nor  in  the 
objection  which  was  to  arise  on  Rente's  part. 

When  the  Count  de  SurgSres  had  suddenly  left  the 
country,  to  join  the  princes  abroad,  Mother  Toinon  had 
said,  regarding  the  lovers  narrowly,  "  Now,  my  dears, 
if  you  want  to  marry,  you  have  only  to  ask  the  miller's 
consent." 

Marcel,  not  understanding  why  Mother  La  Bris£e 
said  his  father's  consent  would  now  be  sufficient, 
went  to  find  him  and  tell  him  of  his  desire  to  marry 
Renee. 

The  miller,  while  declaring  that  he  had  nothing  to 
say  against  the  girl,  had  tried  to  dissuade  his  son.  He 
had  showed  him  that  he  was  too  young ;  he  had  still  to 
work  to  make  a  position  for  himself;  lastly,  he  said 
what  fathers  always  say,  when  they  do  not  quite  ap- 
prove a  marriage,  and  are  unable  to  give  good  reasons 
for  refusing  their  consent. 

Surprised  at  this  resistance,  which  was  not  what  he 
had  expected,  for  the  young  man  supposed  his  father 
would  bring  up  the  relatively  inferior  condition  of  a 
keeper's  daughter,  Marcel  resolved  to  find  out  the 
reasons  of  his  father's  refusal. 

His  mother — mothers  are  ever  foolish  when  it  cornea 


Padame  gm$-(&m.  89 

to  the  happiness  of  their  sons — told  him  that  Master 
Bertrand  Le  Go6z,  the  notary  and  administrator  of  the 
Count's  affairs  (who  had  become  his  substitute  ii  his 
absence,  and  had  his  general  power  of  attorney),  had 
thrown  most  amorous  glances  toward  La  Garderie. 
Sweet  Ren€e  pleased  him,  and  he  had  asked  her  in 
marriage,  and  was  acceptable  to  La  Bris6e. 

Marcel  was  really  unhappy,  and  anger  shot  forth  in 
flames  at  this  confidence  of  his  mother's. 

So  he  had  Master  Bertrand  as  a  rival !  That  villain- 
ous, old,  disagreeable  man,  to  whose  account  a  thousand 
ills  had  been  placed  ! 

But  Ren6e  did  not  love  the  notary.  She  would  not 
have  him.  She  would  frown  down  his  pretension.  He 
was  sure  of  her.  On  that  score,  he  could  be  easy.  As 
for  La  Brisge,  he  understood  the  old  man's  hesitation  ; 
for  he  was  under  Master  Bertrand  Le  GoSz,  who, 
entrusted  with  all  matters  by  the  Count,  was  at  liberty 
to  dismiss  a  keeper. 

There  lay  the  danger.  Though  Goe*z  would  not  dare 
dismiss,  for  such  reason,  an  old  and  faithful  servant 
like  La  Brise"e,  who  was  the  pride  and  the  model  of  old- 
time  foresters. 

Therefore  the  wily  attorney  had  taken  care  to  gain  the 
influence  of  the  miller.  It  was  in  his  power  to  renew 
the  lease  of  certain  tracts  of  country,  belonging  to  the 
Count  de  Surg^res,  which  was  indispensable  to  the 
miller  for  feeding  his  mill. 

Le  Goez  had  made  that  bargain  readily. 

Let  Marcel  give  up  all  pretension  to  Rene"e,  or  he 


9<>  Padame  £an$-&tnt. 

would  not  renew  the  lease,  and  the  miller,  ruined, 
would  have  to  give  up  his  mill  and  leave  the  country. 

The  young  man,  having  learned  the  projects  and 
calculations  of  the  secretary,  said  simply  that  he 
wanted  to  go  and  find  him  in  his  study,  among  his 
papers,  and  break  his  back. 

His  mother  dissuaded  him  from  it.  Le  Goe*z  was 
powerful  and  vindictive.  True,  he  had  the  power  of  a 
noble,  and  for  that  reason,  perhaps,  he  affected  most 
violent  revolutionary  principles. 

He  talked  about  decapitations,  and  had  advised  the 
installation  of  a  tribunal,  charged  with  judging  anti- 
revolutionists,  in  every  community.  He  was  a  municipal 
officer,  and  corresponder  with  the  influential  agitators 
of  the  sections  in  Paris,  the  bailiff  Maillard,  the  Mar- 
quis of  Saint-Hugure,  Tournier,  the  American,  and 
other  men  of  action.  It  was  well  to  keep  peace  with 
such  a  man,  not  to  brave  him. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  then  ?  "  the  young  man  had  asked. 

"Go  away,"  said  his  good  mother,  "dream  no  more 
of  Renge.  Go  to  Rennes,  where  you  will  finish  your 
studies,  become  a  great  physician,  and  find  forgetful- 
ness,  rest,  and  perhaps  fortune.* 

The  young  lover  shook  his  head  and  went  away 
sadly,  without  answering  his  mother.  He  wanted 
neither  rest  nor  oblivion.  He  knew  well  that  far 
from  Rene"e  he  would  not  find  happiness.  He  would 
remain  in  the  country  and  save  Rene"e  from  the  odious 
secretary.  Ah,  he  thought  with  heart  open  to  vague 
aspirations  of  life,  that  he  would  seek  a  new  country 


Pattern*  £M$-<8tnt.  91 

where  liberty  flourished  without  danger ;  he  would  go 
away  to  that  America  where  France  had  helped  to 
fight  for  independence  ;  there  he  would  work,  he  would 
study,  he  would  become  a  hard-working  and  useful  citizen, 
far  from  the  noise  of  camps,  far  from  all  the  tumult  of 
battle  in  old  Europe.  Naturally,  in  the  dream  of  emi- 
gration, Renee  went  with  him. 

On  the  evening  of  that  decisive  conversation  with  his 
mother,  Marcel  found  Renee  once  more  on  the  banks  of 
the  stream,  whose  song,  at  that  twilight  hour,  seemed 
most  melancholy,  most  sad. 

A  crimson  bar  at  setting  indicated  the  death  of  day, 
wrapped  in  a  shroud  of  red  and  gray  clouds. 

The  moon,  meanwhile,  scattering  the  clouds  slowly, 
rose  in  the  east,  and  its  radiant  disk  shone  between  the 
tall  and  leafy  branches  of  the  poplars. 

Renee  and  Marcel,  seated  in  the  grass  on  the  banks 
of  the  little  river,  held  each  other's  hands  and  looked, 
where,  like  a  circle  of  silver,  the  tender,  pale  planet 
rolled  through  space. 

It  was  a  solemn  moment,  a  nuptial  hour. 

Like  the  songs  of  birds  calling  to  each  other  in  the 
month  of  May,  under  the  branches,  the  voices  of  the 
two  young  people  alternated  in  the  softness  of  the 
evening. 

"  I  love  thee,  my  Rene"e,  and  shall  ever  love  but 
thee." 

•«  Thou  alone,  Marcel,  dost  fill  my  thoughts,  and  my 
heart  is  thine  forever  !  " 

•*  We  will  never  leave  each  other "  \ 


92  gftadame  J?att0-(6m. 

•  We  will  live  side  by  side  1  " 

'  Nothing  can  part  us " 

«  We  will  remain  together  until  death  !  H 
'  Thou  wilt  swear  to  follow  me,  my  Rene"e- 


1  I  swear  that  where  thou  goest  I  will  go,  Marcel  1  " 

'  We  will  love  each  other  always " 

1  Ever  will  we  love  ;  I  swear  it  ! " 

•  May  the  branches,  emblems  of  liberty,  and  the 
trees  which  are  the  pillars  of  Nature's  temple,  may 
these  forest  people  receive  and  witness  my  vows  ! "  said 
Marcel,  with  an  emphasis  which  showed  in  both  word 
and  gesture,  as  he  raised  his  hand  toward  the  trees 
which  the  Revolution  honored  as  symbols  of  the  nation, 
in  sign  of  oath. 

Rene*e  imitated  Marcel,  and,  like  him,  her  hand  raised, 
vowed  to  love  forever,  and  to  follow  always  him  to  whom 
she  gave  herself  freely,  and  this  was  the  oath  under  the 
poplars  which  shone  like  silver  under  the  soft  moon's 
light 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  INVOLUNTARY   ENLISTING. 

When  the  two  young  people  had,  with  a  chaste  kiss, 
sealed  their  reciprocal  vows  exchanged  beneath  the 
serenity  of  the  moonlight  which  flooded  the  sky  and 
lighted  up  the  last  clouds  in  the  west,  they  thought 
they  heard  a  crackling  of  leaves  behind  them,  followed 
by  a  cry  like  the  hooting  of  a  screech-owl. 


Padame  gm$-(&m.  93 

That  bird  of  ill-omen  troubled  them  in  their  ecstasy. 

They  embraced  each  other  fervently,  yet  with  a 
secret  fear  despite  their  rapture. 

Marcel  took  a  stone  and  threw  it  in  the  direction 
whence  the  sound  had  come,  seeking  to  dislodge  that 
importunate  screamer. 

««  Make  off,  villainous  owl,"  cried  Marcel,  looking 
angrily  toward  the  dark  wood  where  doubtless,  amid 
the  trees,  sat  the  witness  of  their  love. 

No  bird  flew  thence.  Instead  of  a  flapping  of  wings 
there  was  a  sound  as  of  footsteps  retreating  precipitately 
from  the  lovers,  and  it  seemed  to  them  that  they  heard 
among  the  leaves  the  laughter  of  a  man. 

Some  one  had  surprised  them,  spied  upon  them, 
heard  them ! 

They  both  returned  to  the  village  sad,  silent  and 
uneasy. 

"  I  fear  this  augurs  ill,"  said  Rene"e  at  the  moment  of 
parting,  beside  the  hedge  of  La  Garderie. 

"  Bah,"  said  Marcel,  trying  to  make  the  girl  feel  at 
ease,  "  it  was  some  clown  who  wanted  to  amuse  him- 
self at  our  expense,  some  jealous  fellow  who  was  en- 
raged at  our  joy.  Let  us  think  no  more  of  the  matter, 
sweet !  We  love  each  other,  and  have  sworn  to  be  true 
to  each  other  always,  and  so  nothing  can  separate  us." 

And  they  parted,  both  alarmed  by  the  warning 
they  had  received.  An  enemy  had  surely  watched 
them!  Who  wanted  to  destroy  their  happiness  ?  Who 
could  thus  follow  and  threaten  them  ?  Who  objected 
to   their  felicity  ?     The  memory  of  the  words   of  the 


94  ptadam*  #att0-$m. 

miller's  wife  and  the  thought  of  that  Bertrand  Le 
Go6z,  who  dared  to  desire  to  possess  Rene"e,  presented 
itself  at  once  to  Marcel's  mind.  He  reasoned  with 
himself  and  attempted  to  fortify  himself  against  the 
vague  apprehension  which  penetrated  his  very  soul. 
«*  Bertrand  Le  Gogz  is  a  bad,  jealous  man,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "  but  what  can  he  do  to  us,  since  Rene"e  loves 
me  and  has  sworn  to  cleave  to  me  ? " 

He  determined,  nevertheless,  to  be  on  his  guard,  and 
to  watch  the  movements  of  the  secretary. 

The  fear  he  experienced  was  not  without  foundation. 

Le  Go6z  multiplied  his  visits  to  the  mill.  He  had 
warned  Marcel's  father  twice  that  his  lease  was  soon 
to  expire  and  that  he  need  not  count  on  renewing  it. 
By  virtue  of  the  right  which  the  Count  de  Surgeres  had 
given  him,  Le  GoSz  signified  to  the  miller  that  he  would 
have  to  give  up  his  land.  No  delay  would  be  allowed 
him. 

Always,  too,  the  secretary  warned  Marcel's  father 
that,  should  he  send  his  son  to  Rennes,  and  assure 
him  that  the  youth  had  given  up  all  hopes  of  marry- 
ing Ren6e,  he  would  consider  the  renewal  of  the 
lease. 

The  miller  was  much  distressed,  for  his  son  clung 
to  his  intentions,  and  swore  he  would  wed  Rene"e,  in 
spite  of  Bertrand  Le  Gogz  ;  on  her  part,  the  young  girl 
had  answered  all  the  overtures  of  the  enamored  sec- 
retary with  cold  refusals. 

Bertrand  Le  Go6z  resolved  to  part  them  violently. 

France  was  in  arms.     On  all  sides  there  came  from 


gftadamc  £ m$-(8tnt.  95 

the  towns  volunteers  who  took  pikes  and  muskets,  and 
went  forth  to  die  for  their  country. 

The  secretary,  in  his  capacity  of  attorney  of  the 
community,  assembled,  one  Sunday  morning,  all  the 
young  men  around  and  addressed  to  them  a  warm 
appeal,  calling  upon  them  to  go  to  Rennes  to  re-enforce 
the  regiment  of  Ille-et-Vilaine. 

Several  volunteers  came  forward,  enlisted,  and  left 
next  day. 

Bertrand  Le  Goe*z  expressed  himself  as  objecting 
strongly  to  the  bad  example  and  laziness  of  those  who, 
young,  strong,  and  able  to  carry  a  gun,  threw  away 
the  honor  of  defending  their  country,  and  preferred  to 
grow  weak  in  the  company  of  old  men  and  girls. 

His  harangue  was  meant  directly  for  Marcel. 

He,  understanding  exactly,  what  use  Le  Go6z  meant 
to  make  of  his  inaction,  went  directly  to  the  keeper. 

He  found  La  Bris6e  polishing  his  guns,  and  whis- 
tling a  hunter's  song. 

Rene"e  sat  sewing  beside  the  keeper's  wife. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  surprise  at  seeing  Marcel  enter. 

Danger  was  ahead.  She  questioned  him  with  a  look 
■^begging  him  to  reassure  her. 

"  Father  La  Brise"e,"  said  the  young  man,  much 
moved,  "  I  come  to  bid  you  and  Rene"e  acneu  !  I  am 
going." 

'*  O  God,"  cried  the  young  girl  with  her  hand  on  her 
heart.  "  Why  are  you  going,  Marcel  ?  Does  that 
wicked  Le  Go6z  still  want  to  take  away  your  father's 
land  ?  " 


96  Pattern*  gm$-(&tnt. 

"  That  is  not  my  only  reason  for  going  away." 

"  And  where  are  you  going,  lad  ?  "  asked  the  keeper 
quietly,  still  polishing  his  gun. 

"I  do  not  know.  Throughout  the  village  I  am 
taunted  with  being  idle  ;  yet  it  is  not  fear  that  keeps 
me  from  taking  a  musket,  but  because  I  consider  war 
as  a  plague,  and  the  people  who  go  into  it  as  sheep 
going  to  the  slaughter,  as  my  master  Jean-Jacques  has 
demonstrated  !  Why  do  they  kill  each  other  for  in- 
terests which  touch  them  not  ?  War  for  life  is  just — 
that  is,  when  slaves  take  up  arms, — it  is  the  war  of 
liberty  against  tyranny,  and  that  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 
himself  would  have  approved." 

"Then  you  have  enlisted,  lad  ?  "  inquired  La  Brise"e. 
"  It  is  well — very  well  !  You  have  done  as  the  others 
have  done.  You  are  good — you  will  go  and  kill 
those  Prussian  thieves,  I  hope.  Pity  you  never  cared 
for  the  chase.  You  are  not  like  Rene"e — she  would 
make  a  fine  soldier.  But  you  will  learn  courage, 
Marcel." 

Rene"e  had  risen,  weak  and  deathly  pale. 

"  I  am  about  to  leave  the  country,"  said  Marcel,  with 
rising  emotion,  "  because  I  can  no  longer  live  amid 
threats  and  reproaches.  Father  La  Brise"e,  I  am  going 
with  my  tttther  and  mother,  who  are  likewise  driven 
out,  to  establish  myself  in  America." 

"  What !  "  said  the  keeper,  astonished,  letting  his 
gun  fall;  "you  are  not  going  into  the  army?  What 
will  you  do  in  America,  good  heavens  !  " 

"  I    want,"   said   the   young  man,  firmly,    "  to   take 


Padame  ^aajs-dfotw.  97 

with  me,  as  my  wife,  your  daughter  Rene"e.  There  we 
will  found  a  family,  there  we  will  be  happy  under  the 
great  trees  of  the  wilderness  !  " 

Rene"e  had  fallen  against  La  Brise'e,  saying,  "  Father ! 
father  !  come  with  us  to  that  America,  which  I  do  not 
know,  but  which  must  be  beautiful,  since  Marcel  says 
we  can  be  happy  there." 

The  keeper  had  risen,  much  troubled,  and  address- 
ing his  wife,  who  sat  motionless,  as  though  she  had  not 
heard,  still  drawing  her  needle  through,  mechanically, 
and  said  : 

"  Well,  there's  another  !  Take  Rene*e  to  America  ! 
Marry  her  !     What  do  you  say,  old  woman  ?  " 

Mother  La  Brise'e  stopped  sewing,  lifted  her  head 
and  said  severely,  "  I  say  that  it  is  all  beastly  !  It  is 
time  to  stop  it  !  It  is  necessary,  La  Brise'e,  to  tell  these 
two  turtle-doves  something.  They  do  not  know  they 
are  not  equal.     Tell  them,  thou,  about  it." 

Then  La  Brise'e  revealed  to  Ren6e  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  the  Count  de  Surgeres  and  could  not  marry 
a  miller's  son. 

But  she  said  of  her  absent  father,  that,  having  left 
her  to  the  paid  care  of  La  BrisSe,  he  had  no  right  to 
dispose  of  her,  nor  to  keep  her  from  giving  herself  to 
the  man  she  loved.  She  considered  that  the  irregularity 
of  her  birth  placed  her  beyond  social  conventionalities, 
wherefore  she  proposed  to  be  quite  free. 

The  Revolution  was  everywhere,  and  sowed  in  the 
quietest  minds,  even  in  the  soul  of  a  young  girl  like 
Renee,  the  germs  of  independence  and  liberty. 
7 


98  Pattern*  £an0-$m. 

Marcel  reflected.  The  new  position  of  Rene"e  had 
upset  all  his  projects  and  disconcerted  him. 

The  nobility  to  which  Ren6e  belonged  did  not  seem 
to  him  a  serious  obstacle.  The  Revolution  had  abol- 
ished classes  and  declared  all  men  equal.  But  Renge 
was  rich.  She  could  not  follow,  as  she  had  promised, 
the  son  of  a  ruined  miller,  like  himself ;  what  was 
pure  love  and  youthfulness,  in  other  eyes  would  seem 
like  a  calculating  cupidity  on  his  part  for  captivating 
her  unworthily.  No  !  He  could  not  accept  such  sacri- 
fice, though  Ren6e  was  ready  to  make  it.  He  must 
force  himself  to  banish  remembrance  and  he  would 
leave  France  and  seek  no  more  for  happiness,  only  for 
rest  and  oblivion.     He  would  go  alone  to  America. 

His  resolution  was  quickly  taken.  He  would  declare 
his  decision  to  leave  the  country,  to  put  distance  be- 
tween himself  and  his  love — when  some  one  knocked. 

Madame  La  Bris6e  went  to  the  door.  Bertrand  Le 
Goez  was  there.  He  wore  a  scarf  and  was  accompanied 
by  two  commissioners  of  the  district,  wearing  hats  with 
tricolored  plumes,  and  the  insignia  of  municipal 
delegates. 

As  La  Bris6e  stood,  astonished  at  the  sight  of  the 
three  personages,  Le  Go£z  said  to  one  of  the  commis- 
sioners, indicating  the  young  man,  *•  Citizens,  there  is 
Marcel.     Do  your  duty  !  " 

"Are  you  going  to  arrest  me,"  said  Marcel,  as- 
tounded.    "  What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  We  simply  come  to  ask  you,  citizen,"  said  one  of 
the  commissioners,  "  if  it  is  true  that  you  are  about  to 


Paiiam*  gm$-(&tne.  99 

leave,  to  desert  your  home,  and  your  flag,  as  your 
father,  the  miller  has  said  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  doing  so." 

"You  see,"  said  Le  Go6z,  triumphantly,  taking  the 
commissioners  to  witness. 

"  Then,  you  desire  to  emigrate  ?  You  want  to  bear 
arms  against  your  country  ?  Do  you  not  know  that 
the  law  punishes  those  who  desert  now  ?     Speak  !  " 

"  I  never  meant  to  desert.  I  do  not  emigrate.  I 
can  no  longer  live  here.  Poverty  drives  me  and  mine 
forth.  I  go  to  find  beneath  another  sky  work  and 
liberty." 

••  Liberty  is  to  be  found  beneath  the  standard  of  the 
nation,"  said  the  commissioner.  "  As  for  work,  the 
nation  will  give  you  plenty  !  You  are  a  doctor,  are 
you  not  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  ;  I  must  still  get  one  more  diploma." 

"  You  shall  have  it — in  your  regiment  !  " 

*«  My  regiment !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  This.  We  have  an  order  for  you,"  said  the  second 
commissioner.  "  Our  armies  need  surgeons,  and  we 
are  charged,  my  colleague  and  I,  to  find  them." 

He  handed  a  paper  to  Marcel,  saying,  "Sign  here, 
and  in  twenty-four  hours  be  at  Angers.  They  will  tell 
you  there  to  which  corps  you  are  assigned." 

«'  And  if  I  refuse  to  sign  ?  " 

"  We  will  arrest  you  immediately,  as  a  refractionary, 
an  agent  of  emigration,  and  we  will  take  you  to  Angers 
but  to  prison.     Sign  !  " 

Marcel  hesitated. 


ioo  ptRdame  gm$-(&tnt. 

Bertrand  Le  Gogz,  winking,  said  to  one  of  the  com- 
missioners :  "You  would  have  done  better  to  follow  my 
advice  and  arrest  him  at  once.  He  will  not  sign,  he 
is  an  aristocrat,  an  enemy  of  the  people." 

La  Bris6e  and  his  wife  sat,  struck  dumb,  watching 
the  scene. 

Renge,  meantime,  who  had  approached  Marcel,  taking 
a  pen,  and  handing  it  to  him,  said,  softly  :  "  Sign,  Marcel ! 
It  is  imperative,  I  ask  it  of  you  !  " 

"  So  you  want  me  to  leave  you — to  leave  you  defence- 
less against  all  the  attempts  of  that  wretch,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  Le  Goez. 

Ren6e  answered,  whispering  :  "  Sign  !  I  shall  go  to 
you — I  promise  it." 

Marcel  said  :  "  You — among  soldiers — you  in  the 
army  ?  "  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"  Why  not  ?  I  am  like  a  boy  !  I  can  handle  a  gun  ; 
ask  my  father — '  she  is  not  like  you.'     Go — sign  !  " 

Marcel  took  the  pen  and  nervously  signed  the  deed 
of  enlistment,  then  addressed  the  commissioners. 

"  Where  must  I  go  ?  " 

"  To  Angers — where  they  are  raising  a  regiment 
from  Mayenne  and  Loire.     Good  luck,  Sir  Doctor." 

"  I  salute  you,  Commissioners." 

«'  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me,"  said  Le  Go8z,  in 
a  jesting  tone. 

Marcel  pointed  to  the  door. 

"  You  are  wrong  to  be  angry  with  me.  Now  that 
you  are  a  good  '  sans-culotte  '  and  serve  your  country,  I 
esteem  you,  Marcel ;  and  to  prove   it  I   will  renew  the 


Padame  £att0-$*tt*.  101 

lease  for  your  parents,"  said  the  secretary,  laughing 
cruelly. 

Bertrand  Le  Goez  retired  rubbing  his  hands.  He 
had  gained  his  point.  His  rival  was  going  far  away, 
among  the  enemy.  Rene"e,  of  whose  birth  he  knew  the 
secret,  was  in  his  power.     Would  Marcel  ever  return  ? 

And  she,  once  his  wife,  would  bring  him  part  of  the 
count's  domain,  of  which  he  was  taking  care.  He  saw 
himself  already  master  of  those  vast  estates  of  which 
he  was  now  but  a  keeper.  He  could  show  himself 
good-natured  toward  Marcel's  parents,  and  let  them 
keep  their  lands  ;  he  would  have  them  for  allies  and 
Marcel  could  not  influence  them  against  him.  Every- 
thing reassured  him  that  some  day  he  should  go  about, 
not  as  inspector,  but  as  veritable  owner,  then,  with 
Renee  on  his  arm,  as  his  wife,  over  the  count's  lands, 
whom  the  emigrant  laws  had  power  to  keep  out.  He 
took  good  care  to  make  good  her  inheritance. 

Rene"e,  meantime,  after  declaring  to  La  Brise"e  and 
Toinon  that  she  never  would  have,  in  spite  of  Ber- 
trand, any  other  love,  and  that  some  day  she  would 
marry  Marcel,  had  gone,  at  evening,  to  the  usual  tryst- 
ing  place,  on  the  river-bank,  under  the  poplars. 

There  she  met  Marcel,  very  sad  and  uneasy.  His 
hand  trembled  feverishly,  and  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

She  reassured  him,  repeating  her  promise  to  see  him 
in  the  regiment, 

And  when  he  again  seemed  incredulous,  she  said, 
firmly  :  •'  You  shall  see  !  Wouldn't  I  make  a  fine  sol- 
dier ?  "  she  added,  laughing.     "  Why  !    I  haven't  your 


102  Padam*  £m$-(Btnt, 

ideas   about  war  !       I   am  no  philosopher ;  but  I  love 
you,  and  mean  to  follow  you  everywhere." 

"  But  the  fatigue — the  rations  ?  The  gun  is  heavy 
and  the  knapsack  as  well.  You  have  no  idea  of  the 
painful  work  of  war,  poor  child  !  "  Marcel  said  this  to 
dissuade  her  from  the  attempt,  which,  to  him,  savored 
of  madness. 

"  I  am  strong — I  can  do  it.  Many  young  men  go 
daily  to  the  war  who  are  not  as  robust  as  I,  and  they 
have  not,  as  I  have,  a  lover  beside  the  standard,"  she 
added  proudly. 

"  But  if  you  should  be  wounded  ?  " 

"  Are  you  not  a  surgeon  ?  You  would  take  care  of 
me — save  me." 

Some  days  after,  at  dusk,  one  might  have  seen,  walk- 
ing slowly  along,  a  young  man,  going  to  Angers, 
carrying  at  the  end  of  a  cane  a  small  bundle  of  clothes 
and  wearing  the  costume  of  the  National  Guard.  This 
young  man  presented  himself,  as  soon  as  he  got  to 
Angers,  at  the  mayor's  office,  and  was  enrolled  as  a 
volunteer,  in  the  battalion  of  Mayenne-et-Loire,  under 
the  name  of  Rene"  Marcel,  son  of  Marcel,  the  miller  of 
Surgeres. 

The  young  man  had  said  that  he  wished  to  enlist  in 
the  company  where  his  brother  Marcel,  already  en- 
rolled, acted  as  aide. 

So  the  young  girl  was  admitted  without  difficulty. 
No  one  suspected  her  sex.  This  enlisting  of  young 
women,  in  masculine  attire  and  with  strange  names, 
produced,  occasionally,  at  that  time,  confusion  and  all 


1  §Nadam*  <fatt.$-(S*t«.  103 

sorts  of  discoveries.  The  regiments  of  the  Revolution 
received,  thus,  many  feminine  recruits. 

There  are  preserved,  among  the  military  annals  of 
the  Republic,  obscure  names  and  records  of,  glorious 
deeds  of  service  performed  by  these  heroic  warrior- 
maids.  Their  names  are  inscribed  on  a  deathless 
page. 

In  the  regiment  of  Mayenne-et-Loire,  where  Ren£e 
became  a  great  favorite  and  was  called  the  "  Joli  Sar- 
geant,"  having  attained  to  silver  stripes,  a  cruel  decep- 
tion was  soon  exposed. 

She  could  not  be  very  long  near  him  she  had  come 
to  find.  A  superior  order  came  to  aide  Marcel  to  go 
to  the  4th  Artillery  at  Valence,  where  they  were  badly 
in  need  of  surgeons,  and  who  were  hurrying  to  Toulon. 

The  separation  was  cruel.  The  necessity  of  conceal- 
ing their  grief  and  hiding  their  tears  augmented  the 
bitterness  of  parting — every  one  watched  the  two,  and 
too  great  show  of  emotion  would  have  betrayed  them. 

They  embraced  each  other  at  parting,  each  promis- 
ing to  make  every  effort  to  rejoin  the  other. 

Then  came  Rente's  visit  to  Captain  Bonaparte, 
which  showed  how  anxious  she  was  to  be  once  more 
near  him  she  loved. 

Thanks  to  the  protection  of  young  Robespierre, 
who  was  Bonaparte's  friend,  the  exchange  was 
effected,  and  we  will  not  tarry  to  see  the  meeting, 
under  the  command  of  Beaurepaire,  the  heroic 
defender  of  Verdun,  of  Renee,  enlisted  for  love,  and 
Marcel,    the    humanitarian     philosopher,    the    pupil 


104  Padame  gm$-(&tnt. 

of  Jean-Jacques,  the  apostle  of  peace  and  universal 
fraternity,  a  citizen  of  the  world,  as  he  called  him- 
self, having  found  a  somewhat  involuntary  enlistment. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  CONFIDENCE  OF  MADAME  SANS  GENE. 

After  the  departure  of  the  •*  Pretty  Sergeant," 
Bonaparte,  engrossed  in  thought,  began  again  to  work. 
Following  on  the  chart  his  vast  projects  for  the  de- 
fence of  the  Mediterranean  coast,  he  cast  an  ambitious 
glance  on  the  mountains  between  France  and  Pied* 
mont,  the  key  to  Italy. 

In  the  midst  of  these  strategic  calculations  a  knock 
at  the  door  made  him  lift  his  head. 

"  Who  comes  now  ?  "  he  thought.  He  was  impatient 
at  being  again  disturbed.  "  It  seems  to  be  a  day  for 
visits."     And  he  called,  "  Who's  there  ?  " 

"  It  is  I,"  answered  a  woman's  voice,  «•  Catharine, 
the  laundress." 

*'  Come  in,"  he  growled. 

Catharine  entered,  a  little  embarrassed,  and  said, 
taking  her  basket  from  her  arm,  •*  Do  not  disturb  your- 
self, Captain  ;  I  have  brought  your  clothes.  I  thought 
you  might  need  them." 

Without  looking  up,  Bonaparte  said,  "  The  clothes  ? 
very  well.      Put  them  on  the  bed." 

Catharine  stood  still,  amazed.     She  neither  advanced 


nor  retreated,  and  kept  her  basket  in  her  hand.  She 
thought,  "  I  must  have  a  foolish  look  !  But  this  man 
imposes  upon  me  in  a  way  that  is  beyond  my  power  to 
control." 

She  who  was  called  through  the  Saint-Roch  quarter, 
la  Sans  G6ne,  and  who  really  justified  that  appellation, 
was  actually  timid. 

She  stared  at  the  bed  to  which  Bonaparte  had 
pointed  ;  she  shifted  her  basket  on  her  arm  ;  then,  too, 
she  felt  in  her  apron-pocket  for  the  bill  she  had 
brought,  but  could  not  decide  what  to  do. 

She  "  shook  in  her  shoes,"  as  they  say. 

Bonaparte  continued  to  study  the  chart  before  him, 
seeming  to  pay  no  further  attention  to  her. 

At  last  she  shook  herself  slightly,  to  let  him  know  she 
was  there. 

"  He  is  not  at  all  gallant,"  she  thought.  "  Doubtless, 
though  one  is  decent  and  doesn't  come  for — anything 
out  of  the  way,  one  may  still  be  worth  looking  at." 

And,  somewhat  piqued,  she  began  again  her  light 
movement. 

"  What  !  you  still  here  ?  "  Bonaparte  said,  with  little 
politeness,  and,  after  a  short  silence,  he  added,  with 
his  accustomed  brusqueness,  '*  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Citizen,  pardon  me,  Captain  !  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
— that  I  am  about  to  be  married,"  said  Catharine. 

She  was  as  rosy  as  a  red-cheeked  apple.  Her  bosom 
heaved  under  her  linen  kerchief.  Decidedly  the  cap- 
tain made  her  lose  her  self-possession. 

"  Ah,  you  are  going  to  marry  ?  "  said  Bonaparte, 


106  iftadam*  gm$-(&tm. 

coldly.  "  Well,  so  much  the  better  for  you,  my  girl. 
I  wish  you  much  joy.  I  presume  you  are  going  to 
marry  some  good  fellow  who  keeps  a  laundry  ? " 

"  No,  Captain,"  said  Catharine,  quickly  and  coolly, 
"  a  soldier,  a  sergeant." 

"  Ah,  well  !  You  do  well  to  marry  a  soldier,  made- 
moiselle," said  Bonaparte,  in  a  more  friendly  tone  ; 
41  to  be  a  soldier  is  to  be  doubly  a  Frenchman.  I  wish 
you  good  luck." 

Bonaparte  went  back  to  his  work,  little  interested  in 
the  love-affairs  of  his  laundress,  but  he  could  not  help 
smiling,  as  he  looked  at  Catharine's  plump  figure, 
which  was  radiant  with  health,  and  her  cheeks  were 
so  charmingly  rosy,  in  fine  contrast  to  her  reserved 
manner,  and  the  hypocritical  quiet  she  assumed  when 
she  brought  in  his  washing. 

He  was  always  fond  of  plump  women,  alike  when  he 
was  the  thin  and  starved  young  officer  and  when  he 
was  the  nervous  consul  ;  even  as  the  stouter  em- 
peror, he  always  preferred  to  be  surrounded  by  robust 
figures. 

Catharine's  ruddy  beauty  drew  him  a  moment  from 
his  strategical  preoccupation, 

With  a  rather  brutal  gallantry  which  was  usual  with 
him,  he  came  quickly,  toward  the  young  laundress 
and  laid  his  heavy  hand  upon  her  neck. 

Catharine  gave  a  little  shriek. 

The  future  victor  was  not  one  to  hesitate.  He  be- 
gan the  attack. 

He  redoubled  his  force,  and  caught  Catharine,  mak- 


Padame  ^ang-Gkn*.  107 

ing  her  retreat  until  she  reached  the  bed,  on  which  she 
sat,  and  began  to  defend  herself. 

This  she. did,  without  false  modesty,  without  show- 
ing herself  at  all  frightened. 

And  Bonaparte,  forgetting  all  about  Toulon,  seemed 
anxious  to  hasten  his  work  of  getting  near  her,  by 
shortening  the  siege  and  assaulting  the  place  at  once. 
She  made  an  outwork  of  her  basket,  which  she  set  before 
her,  like  a  gabion,  saying  to  the  surprised  besieger, 
"  No,  no,  Captain  !  It  is  too  late  !  You  cannot  take 
me  !     I  have  capitulated  !     So  my  husband  says." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Bonaparte,  stopping.  "  Then  this 
marriage  is  really  serious  ?  " 

"  Very  serious,  and  I  came  to  tell  you,  besides  an- 
nouncing my  marriage,  that  I  cannot  do  your  washing 
any  longer." 

••  You  will  shut  up  shop,  my  pretty  one  ?  " 

"  The  shop  would  fare  ill  these  days.  And  then, 
too,  I  want  to  follow  my  husband  !  " 

"  To  the  regiment  ?  "  asked  Bonaparte,  amazed. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  that  before."  And,  thinking  of  Rene"e, 
who  enlisted  to  be  with  Marcel,  he  said,  "  Ah, 
the  army  has  at  present  more  than  one  family.  So, 
you,  too,  are  going  to  learn  to  fire  your  ammunition,  and 
perhaps  to  manage  a  cannon,"  he  said,  in  a  teasing 
tone. 

"  I  can  use  a  gun,  Captain,  and  as  for  the  cannon, 
I  should  be  glad  to  take  lessons  of  you,  but  my  husband 
is  in  the  infantry,"  she  said,  laughingly.     "  No,  I  shall 


108  paoam*  gm$-(&tnt. 

not  fight,  unless  I  have  to  do  so,  but  they  need  canteen- 
carriers  in  the  regiments.  I  shall  supply  drink  to  my 
husband's  comrades  ;  and  I  hope  to  have  your  patron- 
age, Captain,  if  you  should  serve  with  us." 

"  I  shall  write  myself  one  of  your  customers,  but  not 
just  yet.  The  minister  will  not  let  me  fight,  nor — "  He 
was  going  to  say  "  nor  eat."  But  he  thought  better 
of  it,  and  simply  closed  his  sentence  with, — "  nor  spend 
money  at  the  canteen.  That  will  do  later — much 
later,  my  girl,"  he  added  with  a  sigh. 

And  he  returned  to  his  table,  a  prey  to  sad  thoughts. 
Catharine,  without  saying  a  word,  for  she  was  dis- 
turbed by  the  sadness  of  this  young  officer  (whose  story 
she  knew),  began  rapidly  to  arrange  the  clothes  on  the 
bed  as  her  client  had  bidden  her. 

Then,  with  a  courtesy,  she  went  to  the  door,  opened 
it  and  said,  as  if  in  thought,  "  Oh,  I  ruined  one  of  your 
shirts,  by  accident,  and  have  replaced  it — it  is  there 
with  the  drawers  and  handkerchiefs.  Au  revoir, 
Captain." 

" Au  revoir!  Luck  to  your  canteen,  my  pretty 
girl,"  said  Bonaparte,  who  was  already  deep  in  study. 

As  she  came  down  the  stairs  of  the  H6tel  de  Metz, 
Catharine  said  to  herself:  "  I  took  him  his  bill,  too  ; 
b«t  I  hadn't  the  courage  to  give  it  to  him.  Bah  !  He'll 
pay  me  some  day — I  believe  in  him — I  am  not  like  that 
man  Fouche\    I  am  sure  he  will  make  his  way." 

Later,  she  thought,  laughing  all  alone,  and  put  into 
a  good-humor  by  an  amusing  reminiscence,  "  How  he 
tormented  me,  that  captain  !     Oh,  he  had  mixed  up  all 


Padam*  j&miff-tifctM.  109 

his  papers,  too.  There  was  no  harm  in  it.  Why,  it 
amused  him  a  little,  and  he  has  very  few  occasions  to 
romp,  poor  young  man." 

And  she  added,  blushing  a  little,  "If  he  had  desired 
it !  Oh,  not  now — at  another  time,  before  I  was 
promised  to  Lefebvre  !  " 

She  stopped  herself  in  the  retrospective  regret  she 
felt  in  regard  to  the  thin,  sad  artillery  officer. 

Pursuing  her  train  of  thought  she  exclaimed,  gayly, 
"  Really,  he  did  not  think  of  it,  else  he  never  would 
have  done  it !  I  must  run  and  see  if  Lefebvre  is  at  the 
shop.  He  loves  me  well  !  And  I  am  sure  he  will  make 
me  a  better  husband  than  Captain  Bonaparte 
would  ! " 

She  had  scarce  entered  her  shop  when  cries  and 
shouts  resounded  through  the  street.  She  opened  the 
door  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

The  entire  neighborhood  was  aroused. 

Then  she  saw  Lefebvre,  without  gun  or  buff-coat,  but 
bearing  his  sword  in  his  hand,  a  weapon  ornamented 
with  a  golden  dragon. 

His  comrades  surrounded  him,  and  seemed  to  be 
carrying  him  in  triumph  with  them. 

"Catharine,  I  am  a  lieutenant,"  cried  he,  gayly,  stop- 
ping beside  his  betrothed. 

"  Long  live  Lieutenant  Lefebvre,"  shouted  the  Na- 
tional Guards,  throwing  up  hats  and  guns. 

"  Add,  my  comrades,"  said  the  new  Lieutenant,  pre- 
senting Catharine,  "  Long  live  Citizeness  Lefebvre.  for 
here  is  my  wife  I    We  are  to  be  married  next  week  > 


no  gjttadame  gnn$-$tnt, 

"  Long  live  Citizeness  Lefebvre  !  "  shouted  the  enthu- 
siastic guards. 

"  Long  live  Madame  Sans-GSne,"  responded  the 
crowd  of  neighbors. 

"  Why  do  they  shout  so  loud  ?  "  asked  Catharine 
softly  of  her  husband,  thinking  of  Neipperg,  lying  in 
the  next  room.     They  will  make  our  sick  man —  H 


In  the  little  room  of  the  H6tel  de  Metz,  meantime,  the 
penniless  and  unemployed  artillery  officer,  having 
finished  with  his  map,  arranged  methodically  on  a  deal 
shelf  the  clothes  Catharine  had  brought. 

"  Why  1  she  left  no  bill,"  said  the  future  emperor, 
well  satisfied  with  this  oversight,  for  he  would  have  had 
to  tell  her  he  could  not  pay  her. 

He  added,  making  a  mental  note  of  his  debts, 

"  I  must  owe  her  at  least  thirty  francs.  The  devil  t 
I  must  go  and  settle  with  her  the  first  time  I  get  some 
money.  She  is  a  good  girl,  this  Catharine,  and  I  shall 
not  forget  it ! " 

And  he  dressed  to  go  and  dine  with  his  friends  the 
Permons. 

That  little  confidence  made  Napoleon,  many  years 
after,  speak  kindly. 

It  was  only  after  many  years  that  she  found,  at  a 
most  unexpected  moment,  the  payment  ofthat  forgotten 
wash-bill. 

And  those  readers  who  wish  to  follow  with  us,  will 
find  again  in  the  following  pages,  Neipperg,  Blanche^ 


the  Pretty  Sergeant,  Marcel,  and  little  Henriot,  and  the 
many  escapades  and  adventures  of  Catharine,  the  laun- 
dress, later  the  Marechale  Lefebvre,  then  Duchess  of 
Dantzig,  who  was  ever  sympathetic  and  popular,  a 
good,  jolly  companion,  heroic  and  charitable,  bearing 
the  Parisian  nickname  of  Madame  Sans-Genc. 


BOOK  SECOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN     THE     POST-CHAISE. 

'*  See,  they  will  not  stop  !  See  how  the  postilion . 
makes  his  whip  crack  in  passing  L'Ecu  ;  he  seemed  not 
to  see  us  !  " 

"  Transient  travellers  are  not  numerous  now-a- 
days." 

"  We  can  see  no  more  of  them  !  They  go  to  the 
Lion  d'Or." 

"  Or  to  the  Cheval  Blanc." 

Sighs  alternated  with  these  words,  sadly  exchanged 
between  the  stout  keeper  of  the  hotel  of  L'Ecu  and  his 
heavy  wife  on  the  threshold  of  the  chief  inn  of  Dam- 
marten. 

Passengers  in  coaches  were  rare  after  the  events 
which  had  followed  the  20th  of  June. 

The  vehicle  which  had  passed  before  the  disappointed 
eyes  of  the  keepers  of  L'Ecu  had  left  Paris  early  in  the 
evening.     It  was  really  the  last  which  got  safely  over 


the  border,  for  the  order  to  hold  all  who  wanted  to 
leave  Paris  was  issued  that  night  as  soon  as  the  reso- 
lution to  attack  the  Tuileries  at  dawn  had  been  taken. 

Informed  by  friends  of  that  which  was  going  on  at 
the  sections,  and  of  the  movement  which  was  coming, 
the  Baron  de  Lowendaal  had  postponed  his  marriage 
with  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  de  Laveline,  and  had 
hurriedly  made  ready  to  depart. 

Being  a  farmer  on  a  large  scale,  he  feared  the  near 
approach  of  confiscation  by  the  national  powers.  The 
Baron  de  Lowendaal  scented  danger. 

The  eve  of  August  ioth,  therefore,  had  seen  him 
jump  into  a  post-chaise,  accompanied  by  his  factotum, 
Leonard,  carrying  with  him  all  the  money  he  had  been 
able  to  collect,  and  ordering  the  driver  to  proceed,  if 
need  be,  with  fresh  relays  of  horses. 

The  baron  travelled  as  one  who  feared  for  his  life. 

At  Crgpy  it  became  necessary  to  halt.  The  horses 
could  do  no  more. 

Morning  had  followed  night,  and,  across  the  plain 
great  day  was  driving  away  the  clouds  and  lifting  the 
darkness.  The  last  stars  set  in  the  blue  vault  of  the 
sky,  where,  on  the  side  near  Soissons,  the  sun  rose. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  was  going  to  his  chateau, 
near  the  village  of  Jemmapes,  on  the  Belgian  border. 
Originally  a  Belgian,  but  become  quite  French,  the 
baron  thought  he  would  be  secure  there.  The  Revo- 
lution would  never  spread  to  the  Belgian  territory ; 
besides,  the  army  of  the  Prince  of  Brunswick  was  as- 
sembled on  the  frontier  ;  it  would  not  be  slow  in  bring* 
8 


H4  Padam*  gm$-(&cnt. 

ing  the  "  sans-culottes  "  to  reason  and  in  re-establishing 
the  king. 

He  had  quitted  France  but  for  a  short  time,  until 
he  should  marry  the  Marquis  de  Laveline's  charming 
daughter.     A  little  wedding  tour  ! 

He  had  fixed  the  sixth  of  November  for  the  solemni- 
zation of  his  marriage,  because  he  had  to  arrange  a 
considerable  piece  of  business  in  the  town  of  Verdun, 
where  he  had  a  tobacco  farm. 

He  had  decided  to  leave  Paris  quickly,  so  as  to  be 
sure  of  escaping  should  he  be  followed.  His  horses 
were  excellent  and  could  not  be  overtaken. 

He  set  out,  after  having  arranged  some  protective 
measures  between  himself  and  the  patriots. 

His  nose  at  the  curtain,  he  sniffed  the  morning  air, 
and  when  they  had  passed  the  first  houses  of  Cr6py, 
quite  reassured,  he  ordered  the  driver  to  halt. 

The  latter  obeyed  very  gladly.  He  had  been  sorry 
to  rush  thus  on  the  way  without  food  for  his  beasts, 
without  a  lamp,  without  a  pleasant  chat.  He  could 
tell  so  much,  too  !  It  was  not  every  day  that  one  could 
see  Paris  arming  itself  and  preparing  to  dislodge  a  king 
from  the  palace  of  his  fathers  !  That  was  news,  surely. 
How  one  would  be  listened  to  and  feasted  who  could 
relate  what  passed  at  the  sections  ! 

At  the  Hotel  de  la  Poste  they  took  a  relay. 

Whikr  the  host  and  his  servants  pressed  round,  offer- 
ing the  baron  a  bed,  proposing  breakfast,  enumerating 
the  various  refreshments,  and  turning  about  with  an 
uneasy  air,  the  confidential  clerk,  Leonard,  went  off  Cot 


Pattern*  gM$-(&mt.  115 

a  moment  under  the  pretext  of  seeing  that  no  over- 
inquisitive  citizens  were  about. 

After  the  attempted  escape  of  the  king  at  Varennes, 
not  only  had  the  municipalities  become  more  vigilant, 
but  everywhere  there  were  men  ambitious  to  rival  the 
glory  of  Drouet,  who  had  had  the  honor  to  arrest  Louis 
XVI.  Volunteers  examined  and  searched  every  sus- 
pected vehicle.  A  post-chaise  appealed  most  strongly 
to  the  vigilance  of  the  patriots. 

Happily  for  the  baron,  local  patriotism  had  not  yet 
been  aroused  when  his  chaise  made  its  noisy  entrance 
into  the  quiet  town  of  Cre"py-en-Vak>is. 

While  the  traveller  sat  down  to  table  before  an  appe- 
tizing cup  of  chocolate,  brought  hot  by  a  buxom  waitress, 
Leonard  had  found  his  way  into  the  stable. 

There,  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  he  sat  down  to  read 
the  letter  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  had  given  him  at 
parting. 

Blanche  had  earnestly  asked,  adding  to  her  prayer 
two  double  Louis  d'or,  that  he  should  not  give  that  let- 
ter, a  very  important  one,  until  the  baron  was  quite  gone 
from  Paris. 

Leonard,  scenting  a  mystery  whose  discovery  might 
be  turned  to  use,  resolved  to  learn  the  contents  of  this 
serious  message. 

"  The  secrets  of  masters  may  often  bring  the  fortunes 
of  servants,"  he  soliloquized. 

He  had  noticed  that  this  marriage,  which  pleased 
the  baron  so  much,  seemed  very  distasteful  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Laveline. 


n6  Padame  gm$-(&tm. 

Perhaps  in  that  letter,  left  in  his  care,  he  would  find 
a  grave  revelation  from  which  he  could  draw  much 
profit.  Surely,  but  with  such  care,  that  he  could  give 
this  strange  missive  its  original  aspect,  he  began  to 
open  with  his  knife  the  seal,  which  he  had  warmed  at 
the  lantern-flame. 

He  read,  and  his  face  expressed  the  greatest  surprise 
when  he  drew  out  the  secret  he  had  sought. 

This  was  the  contents  of  Blanche's  letter : 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron  : 

"  I  owe  you  a  guilty  avowal,  which  I  must  make,  that  I 
may  dispel  an  illusion  concerning  me,  which  facts  would 
not  take  long  to  disclose. 

"  You  have  given  me  some  affection,  and  you  have 
obtained  my  father's  consent  to  a  marriage  in  which 
you  have  thought  to  find  happiness,  perhaps  love. 

"  Good  fortune  cannot  come  to  you  from  such  a  union  ; 
I  could  promise  you  no  love,  for  my  heart  belongs  to 
another.  Forgive  me  that  I  do  not  give  you  his  name, 
who  possesses  all  my  soul,  and  whose  wife  I  consider 
myself  to  be,  before  God  ! 

"  I  have  a  final  revelation  to  make  to  you.  I  am  a 
mother,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  and  death  alone  could  part 
me  from  my  husband,  the  father  of  my  little  Henriot. 
I  shall  follow  M.  de  Laveline  to  Jemmapes,  since  he 
desires  it  ;  but  I  trust  that,  informed  of  the  obstacle 
which  stands  immovably  against  the  fulfilment  of  your 
plans,  you  will  pity  me  and  spare  me  the  shame  of 
having  to  tell  my  father  the  real  cause  which  makes 
this  union  impossible. 

•'  I  rely,  monsieur,  on  your  discretion  as  a  gallant  man. 
Burn  this  letter  and  believe  in  my  gratitude  and  my, 
friendship. 

"  Blanche." 


g&adam*  g*n$-<8tM.  117 

Leonard,  having  read  it,  gave  a  cry  of  surprise  and 
joy. 

"  Whew  !  There  I  can  make  a  fortune,"  he  said. 

He  turned  the  letter  again  and  again  in  his  hands, 
as  he  closed  it,  as  if  trying  to  squeeze  out  of  it,  by 
telling  its  secret,  all  the  money  he  thought  it  contained. 

"  I  thought  there  was  something,"  he  said  with  a 
grin  ;  ««  M.  the  baron  wanted  Mademoiselle  Blanche, 
and  mademoiselle  didn't  want  M.  the  baron.  But  I'd 
never  have  imagined  that  Mademoiselle  Blanche  de 
Laveline  had  a  child — and  I'd  have  supposed,  still  less, 
that  she  would  relate  her  escapade  to  M.  the  baron  ! 
What  creatures  women  are  !  She  doesn't  know,  little 
Miss  Blanche,  what  she  has  done  !  what  folly  !  The 
stupidity  was  in  committing  the  secret  to  paper.  It  is 
well  it  was  I." 

He  stopped  ;  replaced  the  letter,  which  had  explained 
matters,  and  in  the  half-light  of  the  stable,  he  turned 
it  over  in  his  hands  saying, 

"  She  wrote  it  herself.  She  can't  deny  the  writing. 
Oh,  she  is  altogether  too  naive  !  She  might  regret  what 
she  has  told  in  a  moment  of  abandon  and  over-excite- 
ment of  nerves.  Happily  it  is  I  to  whom  she  has 
confided  the  care  of  her  honor  and  her  fortune." 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  putting  the  letter 
into  his  pocket  he  added  : 

'*  Mademoiselle  Blanche  will  pay  well  some  day,  per- 
haps— when  she  has  become  Baroness  de  Lowendaal — 
that  is  sure  to  be — for  the  return  of  this  letter  ;  so  I 
shall  keep  it  and  demand  a  good  price  to  give  it  up." 


n8  Padmtw  gm$-(&tm. 

And  Leonard  laughed  again,  thinking  of  his  gains. 

'*  Perhaps,"  he  muttered,  "  I  shall  not  be  content  with 
money — I  may  ask  more — or  at  least  another  reward, 
for  I,  too,  find  Mademoiselle  Blanche  fair.  But,  at 
present,  I  must  simply  guard  well  this  proof,  this 
weapon — and  encourage  quietly  my  master's  hopes, 
who,  more  now  than  ever,  must  marry  Mademoiselle 
Blanche." 

And  Leonard,  after  buttoning  his  coat  carefully, 
felt,  to  be  sure  that  tell-tale  letter  was  there,  and  with 
the  deep  and  fierce  joy  of  a  usurer,  guarded  the  paper 
which  might  some  day  place  in  his  hands  the  impru- 
dent victim  who  had  signed  it. 

He  found  the  baron,  on  his  return,  a  little  uneasy, 
though  having  breakfasted,  because  a  crowd  of  curious 
folk  had  assembled  before  the  hotel,  and  were  looking 
at  the  chaise.  He  had  asked  twice  to  have  the  horses 
put  in. 

Leonard  explained  his  absence,  by  saying  that  he 
had  gone  to  see  that  nothing  would  hinder  their  de  • 
parture. 

The  baron  was  satisfied,  and  in  high  spirits  he  re- 
entered his  chaise,  which  rolled  thundering  over  the 
streets,  now  no  longer  the  king's  highway. 


Paflame  %m$-®m.  119 


CHAPTER  II. 

AT     THE     FRUIT-SHOP. 

At  the  door  of  her  fruit-shop,  in  the  Rue  de  Mon- 
treuil,  at  Versailles,  Mother  Hoche  managed  to  serve 
her  customers  and  to  cast  an  occasional  glance  at  a 
little  fellow,  rosy  and  chubby,  who  played  in  the  space 
between  piles  of  cabbage  and  heaps  of  carrots. 

"  Henriot !  Henriot !  Don't  put  that  into  your 
mouth  !  You'll  make  yourself  ill,"  she  cried  from 
time  to  time,  as  the  little  fellow  attempted  to  suck  at 
a  carrot  or  to  eat  a  turnip. 

And  the  good  woman  continued  to  attend  to  the 
orders  of  the  housekeepers,  at  the  same  time  sighing, 
"  The  little  imp,  what  an  appetite  he  has,  and  he  must 
handle  everything  !  But  he's  a  sweet  babe  just  the 
same." 

Then  she  added,  turning  to  the  customer  she  served 
smilingly,  "  And  with  this,  what  else  do  you  want  ?  " 

Suddenly  she  stopped  in  her  dainty  work,  which  con- 
sisted of  measuring  herbs  for  a  country-woman  who 
was  going  to  make  a  salad — she  gave  a  loud  cry  of 
surprise. 

On  the  door-step,  in  front  of  a  lieutenant — on  whose 
arm  was  a  fresh  and  dainty  young  woman,  in  an  or- 
gandie gown,  and  with  a  high  hat  on  her  head — stood 


120  gKadame  £m$-<&tnt. 

a  tall  fellow  with  a  proud  air  and  a  martial  face,  who 
came  toward  her. 

He  wore  a  grenadier's  uniform.  He  smiled  and  put 
out  his  hand. 

"  Eh,  well,  Mother  Hoche,  don't  you  know  me  ?  "  he 
asked,  advancing  quickly  and  embracing  the  good 
woman,  who  stood  moved  and  trembling  with  joy  and 
pride. 

The  customers,  abashed,  stood  still  and  stared  at  the 
cabriolet  in  which  the  young  man  and  his  two  compan- 
ions had  come  from  Paris.  They  admired  the  new 
uniform,  the  hat,  the  scarf,  the  belt  and  the  shining 
gold  of  the  sabre  of  this  young  soldier. 

And  the  neighbors  murmured,  "  He  is  a  captain." 

"  Ah,  I  know  him  well,"  said  one  of  the  best-informed 
housekeepers,  "  he  is  little  Lazare,  the  shopkeeper's 
nephew,  whom  she  has  educated  as  a  son  ;  we  have 
often  seen  him  playing  with  the  lads  of  his  age  at  the 
Place  d'Armes,  and  now  he's  become  a  captain." 

"  Yes,  my  good  Mother  Hoche,"  said  Lazare  Hoche 
to  his  excellent  aunt,  his  adopted  mother,  "  you  see  I 
am  captain.  Ha  !  It  is  a  surprise  !  named  but  yes- 
terday, it  is  true.  I  vow  I  couldn't  get  here  sooner.  As 
soon  as  I  received  my  promotion  I  ran  hither  to  em- 
brace you.  I  wanted  that  you  should  be  the  first  to 
enjoy  my  rank,  so  I  invited  myself  and  my  two  friends 
here." 

And  Hoche,  turning,  presented  his  two  friends. 

**  Francois  Lefebvre,  lieutenant,  a  companion  of  mine 
in  the  French  Guard.     A  good  fellow  !     He  is,  besides. 


ptadam*  £»ttjg-<$nt*.  121 

the  man  who  took  me  to  get  my  arms,"  said  Hoche, 
tapping  his  companion's  shoulder  familiarly. 

"  And  now  you  are  my  superior,"  said  Lefebvre 
gayly. 

"  Oh,  you  will  overtake  me  !  You  may  even  leave 
me  far  behind  !  War  is  a  lottery  in  which  all  the  world 
can  draw  a  good  number  !  The  only  condition  is  to 
live  ;  but  let  me  finish  my  introductions.  Mother,  this 
is  the  good  Catharine,  Comrade  Lefebvre's  wife,"  said 
Hoche,  introducing  to  the  market-woman  the  ex-laun- 
dress of  the  Rue  Royale-Saint-Roch. 

Catharine  took  two  steps  forward  rapidly,  without 
ceremony,  and  embraced  the  market-woman,  who 
kissed  her  warmly  on  both  cheeks. 

"  Now,"  said  Hoche,  "  that  you  know  each  other,  we 
will  leave  you  a  moment,  mother." 

"  What,  are  you  going  ?  "  exclaimed  the  good  woman, 
displeased.  '*  It  was  not  worth  the  trouble  of  coming 
for  this." 

"  Be  easy,  we  must  go  away  a  little  while.  Lefebvre 
and  I  have  some  people — officers — waiting  for  us,"  re- 
plied Hoche,  winking  to  his  companion  to  warn  him  to 
be  silent.  "  But  we  are  coming  back  ;  it  will  not  take 
us  long,  I  fancy.  Meantime,  you  will  prepare  us  a 
ragout  such  as  you  alone,  mother,  know  how  to  cook." 

"Of  goose  and  turnips,  eh,  laddie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  delicious  ;  and  then  Catharine  wants  to 
talk  to  you  about  the  little  chap  who  is  looking  at  us 
with  such  wide-open  eyes  as  he  sits  there  ! " 

"  Little  Henriot  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  surprised. 


i22  Padam*  £an.*-<5m. 

"  Yes,"  Catharine  interposed.  "  I  must  talk  to  you, 
my  good  woman,  about  little  Henriot,  on  whose  ac- 
count I  am  here,  else  I  had  let  Lefebvre  come  alone 
with  Captain  Hoche.  They  did  not  need  me  for  their 
business  in  the  woods  of  Satory.  I  must  see  you  about 
the  little  one." 

"  Well,  we  will  talk  about  the  child,  and  you  can 
help  me  scrape  the  turnips,"  said  the  woman,  "  and 
then  we  will  kill  a  chicken,  with  a  stuffed  omelette  ;  it 
will  suit  you,  eh,  lads  ?  " 

"  That  stuffed  omelette  will  be  famous,"  said  Hoche 
to  Lefebvre.  "  Mother  makes  it  so  well  !  Come, 
Francois,  we  must  leave  these  two  to  talk  and  cook. 
Later,  ladies  !     We  are  being  waited  for  now  !  " 

And  the  two  friends  went  to  the  mysterious  trysting- 
place,  of  which  Catharine  seemed  to  know  something. 

The  two  women,  left  alone,  began  preparations  for 
the  meal. 

While  shelling  peas  and  helping  to  pick  the  chicken, 
Catharine  told  the  market-woman  that  she  had  come  to 
take  the  child  to  his  mother,  and  that  that  was  the  rea- 
son of  her  coming. 

The  good  woman  was  much  moved.  She  had  be- 
come much  attached  to  Henriot.  He  reminded  her  of 
Lazare,  when  he  had  played,  a  little  lad,  on  the  door- 
step. 

Catharine  also  told  her  that  her  husband  was  going 
away,  whence  arose  the  haste  in  taking  away  Blanche 
de  Laveline's  boy. 

"Where  is  he  going  ?•"  asked  Mother  Hoche. 


Padame  ^an.s-i&ene.  123 

"  Why  !  to  the  frontier,  where  they  are  fighting. 
Lefebvre  will  be  made  captain  !  " 

"  Like  Lazare  !  " 

"Yes,  in  the  13th  Light  Infantry.  He  has  been 
ordered  to  go  to  Verdun." 

"  Well,  your  husband  is  going  to  the  army,  and  why 
can't  little  Henriot  stay  here  ?  You  can  see  him  just 
as  often  as  you  like,  and  you  can  come  for  him  at  the 
last  moment  when  he  has  to  be  taken  to  his  mother  ! " 

"There's  a  little  difficulty,"  laughed  Catharine,  "  and 
that  is,  that  I  am  going  with  Lefebvre." 

"  To  the  regiment  ?     You,  my  pretty  girl  ?  " 

"Yes,  to  the  13th,  Mother  Hoche!  I  have  in  my 
pocket  my  commission  as  canteen-bearer  !  " 

Catharine  smiled  to  the  child,  who  had  not  stopped 
looking  at  her,  with  the  deep  and  fixed  glance  of  child- 
hood, which  seems  to  ponder  and  to  engrave  on  the 
young  mind  all  it  sees,  hears,  touches,  learns. 

Then  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a  great  official  docu- 
ment, signed  and  sealed  with  the  seal  of  the  War- 
office.  She  showed  it  triumphantly  to  the  older  wo- 
man, saying,  "  You  see,  I  have  a  regular  commission  ! 
and  I  must  rejoin  my  detachment  in  eight  hours,  at  the 
latest;  it  is  necessary  to  deliver  Verdun.  Down  there, 
there  are  royalists  conspiring  with  Brunswick,  and  we 
are  going  to  root  them  out,"  added  the  new  cantiniere. 

Mother  Hoche  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  "  What  I 
You  are  cantiniere,  there,"  she  said  shaking  her  head  ; 
then  looking  almost  enviously  at  Sans-Ge'ne  she  added, 
"  Ah  !  it's  a  fine  thing.     I  should  have  loved  to  do  such 


i24  Padame  £att0-(5m. 

a  thing  too,  in  my  time  !  One  marches  to  the  beat  of 
the  drum  ! — one  sees  the  country — one  always  carries 
joy  about  with  one — the  soldier  is  at  his  best  beside  the 
canteen  !  He  forgets  his  misery,  and  dreams  of  being 
a  general  or  a  corporal.  And  then,  on  the  day  of 
battle,  one  can  feel  that  one  is  not  a  useless  woman, 
good  only  for  idle  tears  and  stupid  fear  at  the  sound  ol 
the  cannonade  !  One  is  part  of  the  army,  and  from 
line  to  line  one  travels,  giving  to  the  defenders  of  the 
nation,  heroism  and  courage,  in  a  little  glass,  for  just 
two  sous.  The  eau-de-vie  which  the  cantiniere  carries 
is  fire  as  well,  and  her  little  cask  has  more  than  once 
helped  to  decide  the  victory.  How  I  admire  you,  and 
how  much  I'd  like  to  be  like  you,  girl.  Really,  were  I 
younger,  I  would  ask  to  go  with  my  dear  Lazare,  as 
you  are  going  with  Lefebvre.  But  the  child  ?  What 
will  you  do  with  little  Henriot  in  the  midst  of  a  camp, 
during  engagements,  in  the  fire  of  battle  ?  " 

"  As  cantiniere  of  the  13th,  I  have  a  right  to  a  horse 
and  wagon.  We  have  already  bought  one,  by  dint  of 
economy,"  said  Catharine  proudly  ;  "  I  sold  out  my 
laundry  ;  and  Lefebvre,  when  he  married,  received  a 
small  sum,  that  came  as  inheritance  from  his  father, 
the  miller  at  Ruffach,  very  near  my  home,  in  Alsace. 
Oh,  we  will  want  for  nothing.  And  the  little  lad  will  be 
made  as  much  of  as  a  general's  son.  Won't  you  have 
such  a  fine  time,  you'll  not  be  sorry  you  came  with  us  ?  " 
she  said  to  the  boy,  as  she  lifted  him  up  and  kissed 
him. 

Just  then   the  sound  of  footsteps   was  heard  ;  and 


Padam*  gm&-(&tnt.  125 

the  child,  quite  frightened,  hid  his  head  on  Catharine's 
shoulder,  shrieking 

Hoche  entered,  leaning  on  Lefebvre  arm. 

He  wore  a  bloody  handkerchief,  as  a  bandage,  hiding 
half  his  face. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  mother,"  he  called  from  the 
door.  "  If's  nothing  !  Only  a  cut  which  won't  keep 
me  from  my  meal,"  he  added  gayly. 

"  O  God  !  You  are  wounded  !  What  has  hap- 
pened?" cried  Mother  Hoche.  "You  have  taken  him 
to  a  place  where  they  tried  to  kill  him,  Lieutenant 
Lefebvre ! " 

Hoche  began  to  laugh,  and  said,  "  Mother,  don't 
accuse  Lefebvre  !  He  acted  as  my  witness  in  an  affair 
that  is  now  over.  A  duel  with  a  colleague.  I  tell  you 
again,  it's  nothing." 

"  1  was  quite  sure  you  wouldn't  be  much  hurt,"  said 
Catharine  ;  "  but  he " 

Hoche  did  not  answer.  He  was  busy  quieting  his 
adopted  mother,  and  in  getting  water  to  bathe  a  bleed- 
ing cut  on  his  face,  which  crossed  his  forehead  and 
stopped  just  above  his  nose. 

"  Hoche  has  been  as  valiant  as  ever,"  said  Lefebvre. 
"  Just  fancy,  long  ago  in  the  Guards,  and  later  in  the 
militia,  a  lieutenant,  named  Serre,  who  is,  by  all  odds, 
the  worst  fellow  in  any  company, — he  had  been  after 
Hoche,  on  account  of  a  racket  made  in  a  tavern,  where 
Lazare  happened  to  be  treating  some  of  his  old  com- 
rades. This  fellow  reported  Lazare — he  had  had  him 
put  into  a  cell  for  three  months,  for  refusing  to  give  the 


i26  gftadame  g%n$-(&tnt. 

names  of  the  men  who  were  being  sought — and  when 
he  came  from  prison,  a  meeting  was  decided  between 
Serre  and  Lazare.  You  must  know  that  Serre  had  a 
reputation  as  a  swordsman — he  was  the  terror  of  the 
quarter — had  killed  or  wounded  several  men  in  duel- 
ling." 

"  It  was  risky  to  fight  that  fellow,"  said  mother 
Hoche,  quite  upset  by  the  thought  of  her  dear  Lazare's 
danger. 

"  But,"  said  Lefebvre,  "  the  duel  could  not  come  off, 
for  Lazare  was  only  a  lieutenant,  and  Serre  was  a 
captain " 

"  They  have  fought  now " 


*•  Yes,  since  he  had  become  the  equal  of  his  op- 
ponent." 

"  But  he  who  is  so  brave,  so  agile,  how  did  he  happen 
to  get  that  dreadful  cut  ?  " 

"  In  a  very  simple  way,  mother,"  laughed  Hoche  ; 
"  I  am  a  poor  duellist,  for  I  believe  that  a  soldier  leaves 
his  post  who  risks  his  life  in  a  personal  quarrel ;  yet, 
I  could  not  remain  quiet  under  the  threats  and  insults 
of  that  cad — he  ill-treated  the  recruits,  and  had  insulted 
the  wife  of  an  absent  friend." 

Lefebvre  took  Hoche's  hand  and  pressed  it  warmly, 
saying,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  That  last  was  for  me, 
It  was  for  us  he  fought !  "  he  added,  turning  to  Catharine. 
"  It  was  he,  this  man  Serre,  who  pretended  that- 
you  had  a  lover  hidden  in  your  room  on  the  ioth  of 
August." 

"  The  monster  !  "  cried  Catharine,  furious,  "  where  is 


Padame  ^awe-Gkn*.  127 

he  ?  Presently  he'll  have  an  affair  with  me  !  But  tell 
me  where  is  the  wretch  ?  " 

"  In  the  hospital — with  a  sword-thrust  in  his  vitals. 
He's  there  for  at  least  six  months.  If  he  gets  well  I 
shall  perhaps  meet  him  again,  and  I  will  settle  for  him 
at  one  time,  both  on  Hoche's  account  and  on  my 
own." 

"  We  shall  have  other  use  for  our  swords,  Friend 
Lefebvre,"  said  Hoche,  emphatically.  "  The  fatherland, 
is  in  danger  ;  we  must  leave  personal  rancor — my 
adversary  had  calumniated,  had  insulted  me — besides, 
he  had  insinuated  that  I  had  asked  to  be  sent  to  the 
army  of  the  North,  so  that  I  might  flee  ;  therefore, 
despite  my  repugnance,  I  had  to  take  a  sword,  and 
show  that  cad  that  he  couldn't  frighten  decent  men,  and  I 
have  given  him  a  lesson  that  will  last  him.  Now,  let 
us  talk  of  other  things,  and  if  the  ragout  is  ready,  let 
us  sit  down." 

"  But  that  wound  ?  "  said  the  mother,  anxiously,  as 
she  set  upon  the  table  a  meal  from  which  arose  a 
pleasant  odor. 

"  Bah,"  said  Hoche,  lightly,  sitting  down  and  un. 
folding  his  napkin,  "  the  Austrians  and  Russians  will 
doubtless  give  me  some  mores  and  one  cut  more  or 
less  will  be  of  no  consequence  ;  besides,  it  is  dry  now, 
see  ! " 

And  lightly  he  lifted  the  handkerchief  which  bound 
his  head,  and  showed  the  wound,  which,  later,  was  a 
deep  scar  on  the  martial  countenance  of  the  future  gen* 
eral  of  Sambre-et-Meuse. 


i28  gHadam*  £att$i-<6*itt. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  YOUNG   LADY   OF   SAINT-CYR. 

The  meal  over,  Mother  Hoche  and  Catharine  got 
everything  ready  for  little  Henriot's  departure. 

They  found  his  holiday  clothes,  which  were  packed 
into  a  trunk,  and  into  which  the  good  woman  put  also 
boxes  of  sweetmeats,  little  cakes  and  candies. 

The  child  helped  greatly,  well  pleased  with  these 
preparations. 

Childhood  loves  change  !  And  wondering  at  the 
gold-hilt  on  Hoche's  sword,  with  which  he  played, 
young  Henriot  began  to  enjoy  the  prospect  of  going 
away.  He  saw,  already,  the  joy  of  travelling.  And 
besides,  he  said  to  himself,  that  where  they  were  going 
to  take  him  there  would  be  soldiers,  very  many  soldiers, 
exercising,  and  that  they  would  surely  let  him  play 
with  the  hilts  of  all  their  swords,  and  he  would  live 
among  them. 

He  forgot  all  about  the  tenderness  and  the  care  of  good 
Mother  Hoche  !  Far  from  being  sad,  the  idea  of  going 
away,  lar  away,  was  anything  but  disagreeable. 
Childhood  is  ungrateful,  and  its  innocence  is  admirable, 
yet  it  goes  hand  in  hand  with  an  all-pervading  selfish- 
ness, perhaps  necessary  and  most  useful,  which  pro- 
tects and  strengthens  the  weak  creature  and  makes  it 


Pate*  £att$-<S*tte.  129 

concentrate  upon    itself  its    attention,  its   instinct  of 
self-preservation,  and  its  desire  to  live. 

Hoche  and  Lefebvre,  letting  the  women  go,  sat  astride 
their  chairs,  talking  of  the  revolution  which  was  begun, 
of  the  war  which  was  rising  at  all  points  on  the  frontier. 

They  had  gone  out  of  the  shop,  taking  up  a  position 
against  the  fence  of  the  fruit-shop,  on  the  Montreuil  road. 
Glad  to  be  alive,  full  of  the  joy  of  youth,  with  hopes  in  their 
hearts  and  valor  in  their  eyes,  these  two  heroes,  prom- 
ised to  the  army  of  the  Republic,  sat,  after  eating 
Mother  Hoche's  excellent  meal,  smoking,  laughing  and 
watching  the  passers-by. 

This  Montreuil,  to-day  called  the  Avenue  de  Saint- 
Cloud,  was  the  great  highway  for  foot-passengers  from 
Paris  :  farmers,  soldiers,  and  villagers. 

For  the  sake  of  economy,  many  quiet  travellers  took 
the  river-boat  to  la  Samaritaine,  at  the  Pont  Neuf,  and 
from  the  Sevres  bridge  went  a-foot  to  and  from  Ver- 
sailles. 

Among  the  going  and  coming  of  these  humble  peo- 
ple, Lefebvre  suddenly  espied  a  thin  young  man  with 
long  hair,  whose  worn  uniform  was  that  of  the 
artillery. 

The  passer-by,  who  seemed  in  a  hurry,  accom- 
panied a  young  girl  in  a  black  gown  who  carried  a 
small  box  in  her  hand. 

Both  seemed  pensive,  as  they  walked  along  the  road. 

Lefebvre,  looking  at  them  attentively,  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, "If  I'm  not  much    mistaken,  that's  Captain 
Bonaparte    " 
9 


130  Padame  ^attjs-Gfotw. 

••  Who's  Bonaparte  ?  "  asked  Hoche. 

"  A  good  Republican  !  An  excellent  artilleryman, 
and  a  warm  Jacobin,"  replied  Lefebvre.  "  He  is 
a  Corsican,  and  it  seems  they  took  away  his  commission 
for  his  opinions.  They  are  all  aristocrats,  run  by  priests, 
on  that  island  !  But  I'll  go  and  ask  my  wife,  she  knows 
more  about  it  than  I  do." 

He  called  Catharine,  who  came  in  great  surprise. 

"What  does  he  want,  my  husband?"  she  said, 
placing  her  hands  on  her  ample  hips,  a  favorite  attitude, 
of  which  all  her  dancing-masters,  Despreaux  and  all, 
had  much  trouble  in  breaking  her  when  she  became 
marchioness  and  duchess. 

"  Was  not  that  Captain  Bonaparte  who  passed  down 
the  road  there,  with  that  young  girl,"  asked  Lefebvre. 

"  Yes,  I'd  know  him  in  a  million,  not  because  he 
owes  me  money,  either  !  But  I  like  Captain  Bonaparte. 
What  can  he  be  doing  with  a  girl  at  Versailles  !  Have 
you  any  idea,  Lefebvre  ?  " 

"  Call  him,  my  dear  Catharine  !  " 

"  Suppose  we  ask  them  to  stop  and  refresh  themselves, 
the  girl,  too  !     It  is  warm  and  the  road  is  dusty  !  " 

Lefebvre,  with  the  consent  of  Hoche,  rose,  and  ran 
down  the  road,  and  overtook  the  captain  and  his  com- 
panion.    He  gave  them  the  invitation. 

Bonaparte's  first  movement  was  to  refuse.  He  was 
never  warm  nor  thirsty.  And  besides,  he  and  the  girl 
whom  he  escorted  had  no  time  to  lose,  as  they  wanted 
to  take  the  boat  to  Sevres,  and  it  left  in  an  hour. 

"  Bah  !    There's  another  in  five  hours,"  said  Lefebvre, 


*'  and  mademoiselle  would  perhaps  not  be  sorry  to  rest 
a  moment,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  young  girl. 

She  intimated  that  she  would  be  glad  to  have  a  glass 
of  water. 

So  Bonaparte  followed  Lefebvre.  They  brought 
out  into  the  street  a  table  and  chairs,  placing  them  in 
the  shade,  and  then  out  came  glasses  and  bottles  of 
good  acid  wine,  like  gooseberry  syrup. 

They  drank  to  the  nation,  and  Bonaparte,  growing 
cheerful,  presented  his  sister  Marie-Anne,  better  known 
under  the  name  of  Elisa,  who  was  destined  to  wed 
Felix  Bacceoche",  and  become  successively  Princess  of 
Piombino  and  Lucques,  and  afterwards  Grand  Duchess 
of  Tuscany. 

Elisa,  whose  continual  ugliness  became,  like  that  of 
her  sisters,  very  trying  to  Napoleon,  and  who  was 
always  cross  amid  her  greatness,  ever  anxious  to  see 
her  little  daughters  married  to  kings,  was  now  sixteen 
years  old.  She  did  not  dream  of  her  great  future  nor 
of  its  consequent  envious  traits. 

She  was  a  tall  girl,  dark  and  slender,  with  a  sallow 
complexion,  long,  heavy  black  hair,  very  sensual  lips, 
a  rather  prominent  chin,  a  perfectly  oval  head,  and 
eyes  deep  and' full  of  intelligence.  Her  look  was  full  of 
pride,  and  her  eye  took  in  disdainfully  the  plain  men 
with  whom  she  had  to  sit  down  before  a  fruit-shop. 

Elisa  was  one  of  those  young  ladies  of  Saint-Cyr, 
whose  education,  conducted  on  Madame  de  Maintenon's 
rules,  was  paid  for  by  the  royal  treasury,  and  who 
thought  herself  directly  descended  from  Jupiter. 


132  gfladame  ^ans-tae. 

A  decree,  on  August  16th,  had  suppressed  the  edu- 
cational institute  at  Saint-Cyr,  as  a  royalist  house- 
hold. 

Parents  had  had  to  take  their  daughters  away 
quickly,  and  the  house  was  soon  empty. 

Bonaparte,  for  lack  of  money,  had  been  slow  to  take 
his  sister  from  the  deserted  convent. 

It  was  necessary  that  the  house  should  be  emptied 
by  September  1st. 

On  the  advice  of  her  brother,  Elisa  had  addressed 
a  letter  to  the  director  of  Versailles,  asking  for  the 
sum  necessary  to  send  her  home. 

M.  Aubrun,  at  that  time  Mayor  of  Versailles,  issued 
the  following  certificate  :  that  Mademoiselle  Marie- 
Anne  Bonaparte,  born  January  3,  1777,  entered  June  22, 
1784,  as  pupil  in  the  school  of  Saint-Louis,  was  still 
there,  and  needed  a  sum  of  three  hundred  and  fifty- 
two  livres  to  return  to  Ajaccio,  the  residence  of  her 
family. 

By  virtue  of  this  authorization,  Bonaparte  had  gone 
to  Versailles  that  morning  to  get  his  sister.  He  was 
taking  her  with  him  to  Paris,  to  send  her  to  Corsica. 

Lefebvre  and  Hoche  congratulated  the  captain  upon 
having  been  able  to  end  so  nicely  this  family  matter. 

Bonaparte  told  them  also  that  the  opportunity  for 
asking  his  sister's  return  to  her  family,  had  opened  the 
way  for  him  to  ask  for  his  re-instatement  in  the  army. 

"Then,"  said  Hoche  interestedly,  "you  will  be  able 
to  rejoin  your  regiment,  too  !  " 

"  The  minister  of  war  has  re-instated  me   in  the  4th 


Padam*  gm$-(&m.  133 

Artillery,  with  my  rank  as  captain,"  said  Bonaparte, 
■  but  I  am  going  to  take  my  sister  to  Corsica.  There, 
•  I  am  authorized  to  take  command  of  my  regiment  of 
volunteers." 

"Good  luck,  comrade,"  said  Hoche,  "  there  may  be 
fighting  there  too." 

"  There  will  be  fighting  everywhere,"  was  the  re- 
joinder. 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  one  is  not  able  to  kill  them  on  two 
sides  at  one  time,"  said  Catharine,  enthusiastically. 

"  Ah,  if  circumstances  favor  me,  my  friends,"  said 
Bonaparte,  emphatically,  "  I  will  find  you  occasions  to 
perish  with  honor,  or  to  reap  commissions,  titles,  glory, 
dignities,  riches,  in  the  harvest  of  victory.  But  excuse 
us,  my  sister  and  me,  it  is  growing  late,  and  we  must 
go  on  foot  to  Sevres." 

"  And  we,  before  we  betake  ourselves  to  deliver 
Verdun,  which  the  Prussians  threaten,  must  go  back  to. 
Paris,  to  take  this  future  soldier,"  said  Catharine,  gaylyr 
pointing  to  little  Henriot,  who  stood  dressed,  ready  to 
go.  The  child  looked  impatiently  at  these  people  who 
delayed  and  stood  around  without  getting  ready  and 
deciding  to  start  out. 

"We  may  meet  again,  Captain  Bonaparte,"  said 
Hoche,  giving  his  hand  to  his  colleague. 

"  On  the  road  to  glory,"  said  Lefebvre. 

"  To  get  there,"  added  Bonaparte,  laughing,  "  I  must 
get  the  boat  at  the  Sevres  bridge.  Come,  Mademoiselle 
de  Saint-Louis,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  horizon,  and 
calling  his  sister. 


134  Madame  £att0-<8etw. 

The  two  talked  on  the  road. 

"  How  did  you  like  that  captain,"  asked  Bonaparte. 

"  Captain  Lefebvre  ?  " 

"  No,  not  he.  He's  married.  His  wife  is  that  pretty 
Catharine — but  the  other — Lazare  Hoche  ?  " 

"  He's  not  at  all  bad  !  " 

■*  How  would  you  like  him  for  a  husband  ?  " 

The  future  grand  duchess  blushed  and  made  an 
impatient  movement. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  like  him,"  said  her  brother,  quickly, 
interpreting  as  a  refusal  that  slight  movement.  "  It's 
a  pity.  Hoche  is  a  good  soldier  and  a  man  of  the 
future." 

"I  haven't  said  that  M.  Hoche  displeases  me,"  said 
Elisa,  *'  but,  my  brother,  I  am  rather  young  to  think  of 
marrying,  and  besides " 

"  Besides  what  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  a  man  who  was  not  devoted  to  the 
king.     No,  I  shall  never  marry  a  republican  !  " 

"  You  are  a  royalist  ?  " 

"  Everybody  at  Saint-Cyr  was." 

"  That's  what  justifies  the  decree  of  closing  it,"  said 
Bonaparte,  smiling.  "  Why,  what  aristocrats  the  young 
girls  become  at  Saint-Louis  !  We'll  have  to  re-establish 
the  entire  nobility  to  find  husbands  for  them." 

*'  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  proud  Elisa. 

Bonaparte  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  did  not  again 
allude  to  his  sister's  ambitious  suggestion. 

Elisa's  reply  did  not  shock  him.  But  he  was  disturbed 
by  great  visions. 


Padame  $an£-<S*iw.  135 

"  Then,"  he  thought,  "  despite  her  education  at  Saint- 
Louis,  one  could  easily  find  her  a  husband.  These 
little  girls  think  anything  possible  !  Without  dowry, 
and  with  brothers  who  have  no  standing,  ah,  it  would 
be  very  hard  !  " 

Ever  haunted  by  the  spectre  of  family,  seeing  ever 
the  lamentable  vision  of  his  mother,  Letizia,  surrounded 
by  her  large  family,  before  a  fireplace  ever  dark,  with 
a  larder  often  empty,  he  felt  himself  growing  afraid  of 
the  responsibility  he  had  assumed  in  declaring  himself 
the  head  of  the  family. 

The  future  of  his  three  sisters  tormented  and  weighed 
upon  him. 

He  was  anxious  to  see  them  settled,  and  looked  about 
to  find  husbands  for  them. 

He  had  met  Hoche  that  day :  he  need  not  have  been 
angry  with  himself  for  suggesting  him  to  the  pupil 
from  Saint-Cyr.  True,  Hoche  was  only  a  captain, 
but  one  could  predict  that  he  would  surely  rise. 

He  murmured,  irritably,  as  he  considered  his  sister's 
refusal.  "  There  are  men  who,  as  captains,  wouldn't 
marry  a  penniless  girl — what  has  she  to  risk  ? " 

But,  he  added,  in  answer  to  a  secret  thought,  in  his 
heart,  "  Captains  should  marry,  if  they  find  a  rich,  in- 
fluential, agreeable  woman,  who  can  be  useful  to  their 
relatives,  give  them  position,  and  a  place  in  the  world, 
but  it  is  not  to  young  girls  they  should  address  them- 
selves." 

Considering  marriage  as  a  means  of  helping  his 
family  from   their    never-ending  want,  he   would  not 


136  Padanw  £M$-(&tnt. 

have  to  go  far  to  find  in  a  union,  however  dispropor- 
tionate, a  refuge  against  poverty,  an  instrument  of 
fortune,  a  step  by  which  he  could  rise  from  a  miserable 
captain's  rank  ;  and  how  easily  he  could  conquer  such 
a  position  if  need  be  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BONAPARTE'S   FIRST   DEFEAT. 

Next  day,  after  having  secured  the  money  allowed 
to  the  young  lady  from  Saint-Cyr  to  return  to  her  fam- 
ily, Bonaparte  went  with  his  sister  to  Madame  Permon. 

He  wanted  to  present  his  sister  to  her  before  her 
departure  for  Corsica. 

Another  project  led  him,  at  the  same  time,  to  his 
friend's  widow. 

Madame  Permon,  mother  of  the  future  Duchess  of 
Abrantes,  was  a  Greek  by  birth,  had  lived  in  Corsica, 
and  was  still  a  very  handsome  woman. 

Her  coquetry  made  her  deny  her  age,  and,  light, 
frivolous,  knowing  how  to  dress,  and  to  move,  in  a 
time  when  luxury  was  both  expensive  and  dangerous ; 
surrounded  with  the  pretty  trifles  of  the  Louis  XV. 
period,  with  artistic  furniture  from  that  dainty  and 
sensual  epoch,  she  seemed,  to  the  poor  young  Corsican, 
a  queen  of  grace  and  elegance. 

He  saw  her  surrounded  by  all  these  attractions,  and 
her  regal  bearing,  which  had  always  charmed  him,  hid 


$tadam*  £att0-Gktt*.  13? 

from  his  poor,  but  loving  gaze,  the  wrinkles  already 
visible,  and  the  avoirdupois  which  usually  comes  with 
years. 

The  Permons  had,  too,  a  fine  fortune.  Bonaparte, 
who  in  days  gone  by  had  often  sat  with  Junot,  Marmont, 
and  Bourrienne.  at  their  table,  supposed  that  the  widow 
had  a  tidy  sum  still. 

These  considerations  decided  him  to  attempt  a  double 
march. 

Leaving  Elisa  with  Laure,  Madame  Permon's  elder 
daughter,  he  accompanied  the  lady  into  a  little  parlor, 
and  proposed  to  her  to  marry  her  young  son. 

And  when  Madame  Permon  asked  curiously  to  whom 
he  proposed  allying  her  son,  he  said,  "  To  my  sister, 
Elisa." 

"  But  she  is  so  young,"  said  Madame  Permon,  "and 
I  know  that  my  son  does  not  now  think  of  marrying." 

Bonaparte  bit  his  lip  and  then  answered,  ••  Perhaps 
my  sister,  Paulette,  who  is  very  pretty,  would  please  him 
better.  And,"  he  added,  "  that  it  could  easily  be  ar- 
ranged to  marry  Laure  Permon  to  one  of  his  brothers, 
Louis  or  Jerome." 

"  Jerome  is  younger  than  Laure,"  said  Madame  Per- 
mon, laughing.  "  Really,  my  dear  Napoleon,  you  are 
a  great  priest,  to-day — you  want  to  marry  all  the  world, 
even  the  children." 

Bonaparte  affected  to  laugh,  and  said,  in  a  rather 
embarrassed  tone,  that  really  the  marriage  of  his  family 
was  one  of  his  greatest  trials. 

Then,  catching  Madame  Permon's  hand  suddenly,  he 


138  ptadamc  £Htt£-6ftt*. 

amprinted  on  it  two  burning  kisses,  saying  that  he  had 
decided  to  begin  the  union  of  the  two  families,  his 
•dearest  dream,  by  marrying  her,  as  soon  as  convention- 
ality, on  account  of  her  recent  bereavement,  would 
permit. 

Stunned,  by  finding  herself  the  object  of  this  unex- 
pected devotion,  she  knew  not  what  to  do  ;  she  began 
to  laugh  in  the  face  of  the  suppliant. 

Bonaparte  seemed  hurt  by  her  hilarity,  but  Madame 
Permon  hastened  to  explain. 

"  My  dear  Napoleon,"  she  said,  taking  a  most  ma- 
ternal tone,  "  let  us  be  serious  ;  you  do  not  know  my 
age  !  Ah,  you  did  not  guess  at  it  even.  I  shall  not 
tell  it  you,  because  it  is  one  of  my  little  foibles  to  hide 
it ;  but  I  shall  tell  you  that  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your 
mother,  or  Joseph's,  who  is  your  elder  brother.  Let  us 
leave  this  nonsense.     It  hurts  me,  coming  from  you." 

"  I  was  not  playing,"  said  Bonaparte,  in  a  hurt  tone, 
"  and  I  did  not  know  that  I  asked  what  was  so  laugh- 
able. I  care  not  for  the  age  of  the  woman  I  shall 
marry.  Besides,  without  flattering  you,  you  seem  no 
older  than  thirty." 

"I'm  much  older  than  that." 

"  I  don't  care — to  me  you  are  young  and  fair,"  cried 
Bonaparte,  ardently,  "  and  you  are  the  woman  I  have 
dreamed  of  as  a  companion." 

'*  And  if  I  do  not  consent  to  such  folly,  what  will  you 
do?" 

"  I  shall  seek  elsewhere  the  happiness  you  refuse 
me,"  said  Bonaparte,  emphatically.     "  I  shall  marry," 


he  added,  after  a  moment  of  reflection.  '*  My  friends 
lave  selected  for  me  a  woman  as  charming  as  your- 
lelf — about  your  age — whose  name  and  birth  are  most 
honorable.     I  shall  marry,  I  say  !     Reflect !  " 

Madame  Permon  had  little  to  reflect  on.  Her  heart 
was  not  her  own.  She  loved  secretly  a  cousin  of  hers, 
a  great  rogue  called  Stephanopolis.  She  had  intro- 
duced him  to  Bonaparte,  and  wanted  to  make  him 
enter  the  Convention's  Guard,  which  was  being  formed. 

For  this  fellow,  who  later  died  prosaically  in  stupidly 
cutting  a  corn  on  his  foot,  she  refused  the  offer  of  Bona- 
parte and  gained  his  ill-feeling. 

On  what  threads  do  destinies  hang !  Married  to 
Madame  Permon,  Bonaparte  might  never  have  become 
general-in-chief  of  the  Italian  army,  might  have  served 
unknown  in  the  artillery,  going  through  war  without 
glory. 

Bonaparte,  in  that  conversation,  had  manifested  a 
desire  to  marry  advantageously,  to  espouse  a  wealthy 
woman,  who  could  facilitate  his  entrance  into  active 
life,  and  open  for  him  the  way  to  great  society,  now 
debarred,  but  which  he  was  ready  to  enter  proudly, 
though  now  he  saw  it  but  from  afar. 

The  double  refusal  of  Madame  Permon  was  destined 
to  make  of  the  pupil  of  Saint-Cyr  the  Princess  of  Piom- 
bino,  and  the  future  General  Bonaparte  the  husband  oi 
Josephine. 


14°  gftadam*  j&utt-Gfcn*. 


CHAPTER    V. 
THE   SIEGE   OF   VERDUN. 

M.  DE  Lowendaal  had  hurried  to  shorten  the  dis- 
tance between  Cr6py-en-Valois  and  Verdun. 

He  had  gone  at  once  to  the  Court-house. 

Two  great  interests  had  combined  to  carry  him  to 
the  scene  of  war,  and  to  come  into  a  city  that  might  at 
any  moment  be  taken. 

It  was  necessary  to  collect  his  money  and  do  it  cau- 
tiously, for  opposite  the  town  of  Verdun  lay  his  tobacco- 
farm. 

And  another  grave  care  made  the  baron's  coming  to 
Verdun  necessary. 

He  wanted,  on  the  eve  of  marrying  Blanche  de  Lave- 
line,  to  rid  himself  of  a  tie  now  insupportable  to  him, 
and  to  break  away  from  a  love  of  some  years  standing. 

He  had  met,  at  Verdun,  a  young  girl  of  good  family, 
but  no  fortune,  who  had  come  from  Angers  to  enter  a 
convent. 

Mademoiselle  Herminie  de  Beaurepaire  had  not  yet 
taken  her  vows.  She  was  not  yet  initiated.  She  had 
resigned  herself  to  the  taking  of  the  veil,  so  that  her 
brother  might  take  his  place  in  the  world  and  get  a 
company  together. 


gttiutame  £m$-(&m.  141 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  had  had  no  trouble  in 
turning  Herminie  from  the  cloister. 

Called  to  Paris  by  the  care  which  his  great  wealth 
required,  the  baron  soon  forgot  all  about  poor  Herminie. 

Intoxicated  with  a  love  for  Blanche  de  Laveline,  he 
was  more  than  indifferent  to  the  girl  who  looked  for 
him  with  alternating  hope  and  fear,  in  the  sadness  of 
an  old-fashioned  house  with  a  rich,  but  invalid  old 
aunt. 

Perplexed,  the  baron  asked  himself  what  sort  of  ex- 
planation he  could  make  to  her  who  considered  herself 
his  wife — revolving  the  question  from  the  moment  the 
chaise  left  the  gates  of  France,  on  the  Chalons  road. 

He  must  absolutely  cut  loose  and  let  Herminie  un- 
derstand that  she  could  count  no  more  upon  him. 

He  crossed  the  town  anxiously,  for  the  strangest  and 
most  contradictory  stories  were  afloat ;  and  went  di- 
rectly to  the  chief  attorney,  of  whom  he  made  his 
demand. 

He  said  that  the  finances  of  Verdun  were  in  such  a 
condition  that  no  payment  whatever  could  be  made. 

But  the  magistrate  added,  taking  on  a  mysterious 
air,  "  There  is,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  one  chance  for  you 
to  reimburse  yourself." 

"What  is  it  ?"  asked  Lowendaal  quickly. 

"  If  we  have  no  money,"  said  the  man,  "  the  Emperor 
of  Austria  has,  and  if  peace  could  be  maintained,  if 
the  hoVrors  of  a  siege  could  be  spared  to  this  unfortu- 
nate town — then,  I  could  answer  for  your  reimburse- 
ment, Monsieur  le  Baron." 


t42  Padame  &M$-<&mt. 

The  baron  hesitated  to  reply. 

Cosmopolitan,  like  all  financiers,  it  made  little  dif- 
ference to  him  whether  his  money  came  from  the 
French  King  or  the  Austrian  Emperor. 

He  was  not  troubled  by  patriotic  scruples. 

He  experienced  no  indignation,  on  hearing  the  magi- 
strate suggest  his  betraying  the  town  to  the  enemy. 

The  baron  asked  if  the  attorney  were  exactly  in- 
formed, if  he  were  sure  that  the  troops  of  the  Prussian 
King  and  the  Austrian  Emperor,  masters  of  Verdun, 
would  be  able  to  guard  the  town  and  preserve  it  against 
the  attack  of  the  volunteers  who  were  coming. 

He  calculated  at  once  the  chances  which  the  pro- 
posed bargain  presented. 

After  having  reviewed  the  various  chances  which  the 
affair  presented,  he  asked  about  the  re-enforcements 
which  were  supposed  to  be  coming  from  Paris  to 
Verdun. 

"  They  will  come  too  late,"  said  the  attorney. 

**  Then,  I'm  your  man,"  exclaimed  the  baron. 

«'  Well !  You  came  rapidly  from  Paris  ?  You  spoke 
to  no  one  ?  " 

"  I  was  really  in  a  great  hurry  !  " 

"  Have  you  with  you  a  discreet  person,  a  good 
boaster  ?  " 

"  Discreet  !     Able  to  keep  a  secret  ?  " 

«•  And  boastful  ;  that  is,  capable  of  spreading  some 
apparently  improbable  reports."  # 

«« I  have  the  very  man — Leonard,  my  valet.  What 
must  he  kee    silence  about  ?  " 


gttadame  $m$-$tM.  143 

«'  Our  projects." 

"  He  shall  not  know  them." 

"  Then  he  will  surely  be  silent.  The  secrets  one 
does  not  know  are  easily  kept." 

"  And  how  is  he  to  show  himself  a  talker  ?  " 

««  On  the  news  from  Paris — the  city  in  the  hands  of 
brigands — the  royal  authority  ready  to  descend,  at  the 
approach  of  the  Prussian  and  Austrian  armies,  and  re- 
take the  power,  and  chase  off  the  rebels." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Leonard  does  not  love  the  sans-cu- 
lottes,  and  will  readily  attend  to  that  mission." 

"  Your  Leonard  might  add  that  he  has,  from  a  good 
source,  the  news  that  eighty  thousand  English  are  com- 
ing to  land  at  Brest  and  march  upon  Paris." 

"  And  the  object  of  spreading  these  alarms  ?  " 

"To  justify  our  action  of  to-night." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Here.  We  are  to  assemble  the  principal  citizens 
and  dictate  the  terms  of  their  answer  to  the  Duke  of 
Brunswick.     You  are  ours  ?"  he  said. 

"  You  have  my  promise,  as  I  have  yours,  for  the  repay- 
ment of  my  confidence." 

"  Between  honest  men,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  one  needs 
but  one  word,"  and  he  took  his  hand. 

So  the  two  conspirators  parted  ;  one  to  send  Leonard 
to  spread  alarmist  reports  among  the  people,  the  other 
to  cement  secret  adhesions  to  his  proposed  treason. 


i44  gttadame  £att0-<$flw. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  THE  MARCH. 

On  the  way  to  Verdun,  the  volunteers  of  Mayenne- 
et-Loire  were  happy,  as,  accompanied  by  a  detachment 
of  the  13th  Light  Infantry,  in  which  Francois  Lefebvre 
served  as  a  lieutenant  with  captain's  orders,  they 
marched  and  sang. 

Enthusiasm  sparkled  in  their  eyes,  the  desire  for  con- 
quest filled  their  hearts. 

They  passed  through  villages  where  women  stood, 
their  children  around  them,  as  in  a  procession,  and  the 
volunteers  threw  kisses  to  them.  To  the  men  they 
promised  that  they  would  conquer  or  die.  They  went, 
strong,  confident,  inspiring,  to  the  shrill  sound  of  the  fife, 
and  the  martial  roll  of  the  drum  ;  the  tri-color  flapped, 
with  joyous  motion,  in  the  wind,  and  the  very  soul  of 
patriotism  was  in  their  midst. 

All,  on  quitting  their  native  land,  had  made  over 
their  property  to  their  people,  declaring  that  they  might 
already  be  numbered  with  the  dead. 

And  these  heroes  went,  with  songs  on  their  lips,  to 
die  for  their  country, — a  death  which  seemed  for  them 
the  fairest,  and  most  desirable. 

On  the  way,  to  shorten  the  long  marches,  they  sang 


patlame  ^aws-ta*.  145 

to  the  music  of  the  Carmagnole,  some  innocent  and 
|olly  lay,  like  "  La  Gamelle," 

"  My  friends,  pray  can  you  tell  me, 
Why  all  so  gay,  are  we  ? 

Because  that  meal  is  best, 

That's  eaten  with  a  jest. 
We  mess  together  always, 

Long  live  the  sound  ! 
We  mess  together  always, 

Long  live  the  cauldron's  sound  I " 

The  refrain  was  carried  along  the  line  and  the  rear, 
guard  answered — 

"  Naught  of  coldness,  naught  of  pride  here, 
Only  friendship  maketh  high  cheer. 

Yes,  without  fraternity, 

There  is  never  gayety. 
Let  us  mess  together,  lads, 

Long  live  the  sound ! 
Let  us  mess  together,  lads, 

Long  live  the  cauldron's  sound  I  " 

As  they  neared  Verdun,  whose  towers  overlooked 
the  wooded  plain,  the  commander,  Beaurepaire,  called 
a  halt. 

He  was  anxious  to  observe  the  surroundings  of  the 
place. 

The  Prussians  were  not  far  off;  and,  after  recent 
events,  it  was  wise  to  beware  of  ambuscades. 

On  an  elevation,  amid    the  trees,  well  shut-In  and 
invisible  from  the  town,  the  little  army  encamped 
10 


146  Patlamc  £m$-(&tnt. 

They  overlooked  a  verdant  gorge,  at  whose  foot 
some  houses  were  grouped. 

A  shepherd,  who  had  followed  the  soldiers  from  their 
meeting  near  Dombasle,  was  questioned  by  Beaure- 
paire. 

He  could  give  no  information  on  the  possible  move- 
ments of  the  enemy's  force. 

Beaurepaire  hailed  the  shepherd.  He  called  to  him 
and  asked  :  "  Do  you  know  the  name  of  that  little 
village  among  the  trees  which  the  woods  hide  so 
well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur  ;  it  is  Jouy-en-Argonne." 

A  shudder,  quickly  repressed,  escaped  Beaurepaire. 

He  took  his  field-glass,  and,  from  far  above,  looked 
attentively,  eagerly,  and  with  sad  eyes,  upon  the  modest 
village. 

He  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  it.  Some  one  had 
said  he  would  find  there  something  of  prime  impor- 
tance to  him. 

There  was  no  trace  of  an  encampment,  no  sign  of 
bivouac  ;  nothing  to  speak  of  the  presence  of  soldiers 
appeared  in  the  wooded  slope. 

Beaurepaire  returned,  pensive,  to  the  volunteers  who 
had  already  built  fires,  and  were  busy  cooking  their 
soup. 

While  some  were  getting  wood,  others  brought  water 
from  a  spring  that  gurgled  out  a  little  above  them,  and 
the  cooks  shelled  peas,  stolen,  in  passing,  from  the  fields 
as  they  came  along  ;  and  they  accompanied  their  culi- 
nary operations  with  another  stanza  of  ••  La  Gamelle." 


Padame  ^aitjs-^ttc.  147 

*  Many  crowned  heads,  to-day, 
Dying,  famished  far  away, 

Might  envy  the  way 

Of  the  soldier  gay 
Who  eats  our  mess  to-day. 

Long  live  the  cauldron's  sound  !  " 

A  chariot  was  stationed  at  some  distance  from  the 
cooks.  A  good  old  gray  horse,  unharnessed,  browsed 
the  grass  peacefully,  stretching  his  neck  to  nibble  the 
young  shoots  of  the  trees,  which  he  found  toothsome. 

The  chariot  bore  this  inscription  : 
13  Light. 
Mme.  Catharine  Lefebvre, 
Cantiniere. 

Near  the  chariot  a  child  played,  rolling  about  on  the 
grass ;  and,  as  if  seeking  safety,  came  from  time  to 
time,  to  the  cantiniere,  who  patted  his  cheek  to  re- 
assure him,  at  the  same  time  attending  to  her  busi- 
ness, for  the  troopers  wanted  the  canteen  opened. 
Aided  by  a  soldier,  she  put  out  a  long  plank,  as  a 
table,  on  two  trestles. 

Very  soon  pitchers,  jugs,  and  a  little  keg,  with 
glasses  and  cups,  were  set  on  the  improvised  table. 

The  canteen  was  mounted. 

The  men  crowded  around. 

The  road  and  the  songs  had  made  the  good-humored 
troop  thirsty. 

Soon  glasses  were  filled,  and  they  drank  to  the  suc- 
cess of  the  battalion  of  Mayenne-et-Loire,  to  the  de- 
liverance of  Verdun,  to  the  triumph  of  Liberty. 


148  padame  gmfi-l&tnt. 

Some  had  no  money,  but  the  cantiniere  was  a  good 
girl,  and  gave  the  poor  ones  credit.  They  would  pay 
after  the  victory. 

Beaurepaire  looked,  smiling,  upon  the  lively  scene, 
and  his  eyes  turned  again  toward  the  village  of  Jouy- 
en-Argonne,  and  he  said,  anxiously,  ««  I  cannot  go  there  ; 
whom  could  I  send  ?  Some  one  I  could  trust — a  woman 
were  best — but  where  find  su»h  a  messenger  ?  " 

And  he  continued  to  look  at  the  men  grouped  about 
Catharine  Lefebvre. 

Aside,  and  seemingly  indifferent  to  the  joy  of  the 
troops  at  rest,  a  sergeant  and  a  young  man  wearing 
the  distinctive  insignia  of  the  sanitary  corps,  talked  ex- 
citedly, lowering  their  voices  so  as  not  to  be  over- 
heard. 

It  was  Marcel,  who  had  rejoined  Renee  the  handsome 
sergeant.  He  had,  thanks  to  the  girl's  exertions,  ob- 
tained, through  Robespierre,  on  Bonaparte's  recom- 
dation,  his  exchange  from  the  4th  Artillery.  Sent  to 
the  battery,  detailed  to  follow  the  command  of  Beau- 
repaire, he  had  met  the  regiment  at  Sainte-Menchould. 

The  exigences  of  the  service,  the  difference  of  rank, 
and  the  place  of  the  aide  at  the  end  of  the  column,  had 
kept  the  young  folks  from  exchanging  confidences  and 
showing  their  joy  at  the  re-union. 

The  unexpected  halt,  called  by  the  commander  on 
the  edge  of  the  forest  of  Hesse,  above  the  village  ot 
Jouy-en-Argonne,  had  at  last  given  them  the  opportu- 
nity.    They  were  using  it. 

Beaurepaire   went  on,  somewhat  surprised   at  the 


Padam*  £M$-<3tut.  149 

seeming  intimacy  between  the  sergeant  and  the  aide. 
He  waited  to  learn  its  causes  later,  when  Lefebvre, 
happening  to  pass,  said  to  Marcel  : 

*■  You  come  from  the  4th  Artillery  ?  "  He  interrupted 
the  lover's  tite-d-tete. 

"  Yes,  lieutenant — in  the  right  wing." 

"  Was  Captain  Bonaparte,  who  has  been  re-instated, 
with  the  regiment,  when  you  left  ?  " 

"  Captain  Bonaparte  was  in  Corsica.  He' had  gotten 
leave,  but  he  wrote  to  friends  in  Valence  ;  so  we  heard 
in  the  regiment.  They  speak  frequently  of  Captain 
Bonaparte." 

Beaurepaire,  who  had  listened,  came  up  and  said 
quickly,  "  Ah  !  where  is  he  ?  I  trust  no  ill  has  hap- 
pened to  him.  Can  you  tell  me,  Major  ?  I,  too,  am 
one  of  his  friends." 

"  My  commander,"  said  Marcel,  "  Captain  Bona- 
parte is  well,  and  now  safe,  with  his  family,  at  Mar- 
seilles ;  but  he  was  in  great  danger." 

"  The  devil  !  Tell  me  all  about  it !  My  dear  Bona- 
parte !     What  happened  to  him  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  Commander,"  said  Lefebvre,  "  do  you 
not  think,  to  listen  to  the  major's  story,  we  would  be 
more  comfortable  seated,  and  with  some  refreshment? 
My  wife  will  serve  it  to  us  ! " 

"  Gladly,"  said  the  commander,  sitting  down. 
"  Here's  to  the  health  of  Madame  Lefebvre,  the  pretty 
cantiniere  of  the  13th." 

All  three  clicked  glasses,  while  Lefebvre  said  to  his 
wife,  with  a  wink, 


150  Padame  Jtaw-titait. 

"  Listen  to  the  major's  tale  !  He  has  news  from 
Corsica  about  your  friend,  Captain  Bonaparte." 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  jealous  of  poor  Bonaparte  ?  " 
said  Catharine  shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  Has  any- 
thing dreadful  happened  to  him,  Major  ? ' 

"  He  has  escaped  death  by  a  miracle  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Oh,  tell  me  about  it  quickly,  major, 
with  the  commander's  permission  !  "  said  Catharine, 
sitting  down  on  a  tree-trunk,  lips  parted,  ears  pricked, 
impatient  for  the  news  of  her  sometime  client. 

Marcel  went  on  to  tell  how  the  Corsicans,  hostile  to 
the  Revolution,  had  desired  to  give  themselves  to  Eng- 
land. Paoli,  the  hero  of  the  early  years  of  the  in- 
dependence, had  negotiated  with  the  English.  He  had 
sought  to  draw  Bonaparte  into  the  defection.  The  in- 
fluence of  the  commander  of  the  National  Guard  of 
Ajaccio  was  necessary  to  him.  But  Bonaparte  had  in- 
dignantly refused  to  participate  in  his  treason. 

Paoli,  irritated,  had  incensed  the  people  against  him 
and  his.  Napoleon  and  his  brothers  Joseph  and 
Lucien,  were  obliged  to  disguise  themselves  and  flee. 

Paoli  turned  his  fury  against  Bonaparte's  mother. 
The  house  whither  Letizia  Bonaparte  had  fled  with  her 
daughters  had  been  assaulted,  pillaged,  burned.  The 
courageous  woman  had  had  to  save  herself  that  night, 
before  the  dawn. 

It  was  a  sad  flight.  Some  devoted  friends,  under  the 
orders  of  an  energetic  vine-grower,  named  Bastelica, 
protected  the  fugitives.  The  Bonaparte  family  marched 
in   the   centre  of  an  armed  force.     Letizia  led   little 


Pauline,  the  future  wife  of  General  Leclerc,  by  the 
hand  ;  Elisa,  the  girl  who  had  just  come  from  Saint- 
Cyr,  from  a  quiet  school,  fell  upon  adventures  in  the 
exodus  across  the  mountain,  with  her  uncle  Abb6 
Fesch,  whose  best  days  were  over  ;  little  Louis  played 
around  the  column,  shouting  and  asking  insistently  for 
a  gun.  Little  Jerome  was  carried  by  Savarea,  the 
devoted  servant. 

They  avoided  beaten  roads.  They  sought  abrupt 
turnings.  They  tried  to  gain  the  river  without  being 
seen  by  the  Paolists. 

Trees  and  stones  in  the  path  tore  the  clothes,  hands 
and  faces  of  the  crying  children. 

After  a  sleepless  and  weary  night,  they  came  to  a 
torrent.  They  could  not  cross  it.  Happily,  they  could 
procure  a  horse  and  ford  the  stream. 

They  had  scarcely  crossed  when  a  troop  of  Paolists, 
in  pursuit  of  the  Bonapartes,  passed  quickly. 

They  threw  themselves  down,  repressing  even  their 
sighs.  Madame  Bonaparte  quieted  the  frightened 
Pauline,  who  was  crying.  The  horse,  too,  seeming  to 
divine  the  danger,  stood  still,  ears  pricked,  listening. 

At  last,  beside  a  rock  they  saw  Napoleon,  who  had 
come,  in  a  French  ship,  to  take  them  across  the  gulf. 

Bonaparte  hastened  to  get  them  on  board.  Scarcely 
had  he  met  his  people,  when  a  shepherd  came  running 
to  them.      The  Paolists  had  discovered  them. 

They  had  just  time  to  embark.  The  Corsicans, 
reaching  the  bank,  saluted  the  fugitives  with  a  fire  of 
musketry,  but  they  were  beyond  reach. 


1 52  Padame  g*n$-(&tnt. 

Once  aboard,  Bonaparte  turned  the  single  cannon  of 
the  ship,  and  discharged  upon  the  Paolists  such  a 
devastating  fusilade,  that  eight  or  ten  of  them  were  slain 
upon  the  spot.     The  rest  fled.     The  family  was  saved  ! 

"  Brave  Bonaparte  !  "  said  Catharine,  clapping  her 
hands.  "  Oh,  those  dastardly  Corsicans  !  If  I  could 
only  have  been  there  with  our  men,  eh,  Lefebvre  ?  " 

"  Bonaparte  was  enough,"  said  Lefebvre,  "  he's  a  fine 
cannoneer." 

"And  a  true  Frenchman!"  added  Beaurepaire. 
"  He  would  not  give  up  his  country  to  an  enemy. 
Can  you  fancy  Bonaparte  dying  thus  on  an  island,  an 
English  prisoner?  It  would  have  been  absurd,  and  his 
fate  is  too  great  for  that.  Thanks,  Major,  for  your 
tale !  When  we  have  delivered  Verdun,  I  shall  write 
and  congratulate  Bonaparte  !  " 

The  commander  had  risen.  Having  thought  the 
rest  sufficient,  and  seeing  nothing  suspicious  about 
Verdun,  he  gave  the  order  to  get  ready  to  march. 
They  must  be  on  the  way  in  two  hours,  to'  reach  Ver- 
dun a  little  before  night,  using  the  friendly  dusk. 

While  the  men,  having  eaten  their  soup  and  cleaned 
their  muskets,  were  reforming  the  column,  the  com- 
mander turned  to  the  now  deserted  vehicle,  and 
Catharine. 

He  made  a  sign  to  the  cantiniere,  that  he  wished  to 
speak  to  her. 

In  a  low  voice,  he  gave  his  instructions  to  Catharine, 
who  seemed  to  hear  him  with  some  surprise. 

When  he  had  finished,  she  said,  simply,  "  I  under- 


Padame  £m$  <5ent.  153 

stand,  Commander  ;  and  when  I  leave  Jouy-en-Argonne, 
and  come  to  Verdun,  what  then  ?  " 

•'  Come  to  us  at  once  if  the  town  is  quiet.  Wait  and 
follow,  if  the  enemy  have  moved." 

"  Very  well,  sir  !  I  will  put  on  my  civil  garb.  I  hope 
you  will  be  satisfied  with  me." 

Then  she  called  to  Lefebvre,  who  was  wondering 
what  secret  mission  the  commander  had  thought  fit  to 
intrust  to  his  wife. 

'« Francois,  I  shall  see  you  at  Verdun,  by  the  com- 
mander's order.  Take  good  care  of  Henriot.  See  that 
La  Violette  " — he  was  the  young  soldier  detailed  to  take 
care  of  the  canteen — "  takes  care  of  the  horse  going 
downhill — holds  him  by  the  bridle." 

"He'll  be  taken  care  of,"  rejoined  Lefebvre.  "But, 
Catharine,  be  prudent.  If  the  Prussian  cavaliers  who 
fight  this  battle  should  take  you  prisoner  ?  " 

"  You  wretch  !  Remember,  under  my  blouse  I  carry 
my  two  watch-dogs,  '  said  Catharine,  gayly. 

And  lifting  her  skirt,  she  showed  her  husband  the 
stocks  of  two  pistols,  slipped  into  the  belt  where  she 
carried  her  money. 

The  volunteers,  meantime,  at  a  sign  from  Beaurepaire, 
had  fallen  into  line,  and  were  ready  to  go  on  their  way. 

Catharine  bravely  descended  the  rapid  incline  of  the 
gorge,  at  whose  foot  lay  the  little  village  of  Jouy-en- 
Argonne. 

She  had  reached  its  first  houses,  when  over  wood, 
field  and  hill,  came  the  full-voiced  song  of  the  volun- 
teers, on  their  way  to  Verdun. 


iS4  gjftadame  £m\#-(&tnt. 

Ah  !  5a  ira  !  9a  ira !  5a  ira  ! 
Little  and  big  we  are  soldiers  at  heart ! 

Ah !  5a  ira !  5a  ira  !  9a  ira ! 
During  the  battle  let  no  one  betray — 

Ah  9a  ira  !   9a  ira  !   9a  ira  ! 

And  the  echo  of  the  valley  repeated,  "  Ca  ira  !  ca 
ira  !  "  responding  to  the  martial  note  of  the  brave  boys 
going  to  conquer  for  their  country,  and  singing  under 
the  sacred  banner  of  Liberty. 


CHAPTER  VII, 

THE      FORSAKEN. 

Herminie  de  Beaurepaire  was  in  a  great  wing  of 
the  house  of  Blexourt  at  Verdun,  transformed  into  an 
oratory,  under  the  inspiration  of  her  bigoted  aunt, 
Madame  de  Ble"court. 

Two  crucifixes  and  a  small  improvised  altar,  on 
which  stood  a  Virgin  Mary,  holding  in  her  arms  the 
Infant  Jesus,  and  spreading  a  robe  of  blue  and  an 
aureole  of  gilded  wood  over  the  scene  ;  candelabras 
and  two  vases  of  flowers  completed  the  decoration  of 
the  chamber,  which  had  been  turned  into  a  chapel 
after  the  suppression  of  the  religious  houses.  The 
pious  aunt  meant  that  Herminie  should  continue  to 
prepare  for  the  conventual  life  to  which  she  had  been 
destined,  so  as  to  be  ready  when  the  convents  were  re- 
opened. 


iftadame  jfow-tifcut.  15s 

When  Lowendaal  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the 
oratory,  Mademoiselle  de  Beaurepaire  gave  a  cry  or 
surprise,  started,  then  stopped,  looking  at  him  doubt- 
fully, hesitatingly,  timidly  waiting  for  a  word,  a  sign,  a 
movement  of  his  lips,  a  cry  from  his  heart. 

The  baron  stood  coldly,'  somewhat  embarrassed, 
twitching  his  lips,  and  not  daring  to  speak. 

"  Ah,  you  are  come,  monsieur,"  said  the  young 
woman,  in  a  tremulous  tone.  "  I  thought  I  should 
never  see  you  again,  so  long  a  time  has  elapsed  since 
we  met  in  this  place  for  the  last  time,  and  then  down 
there,  at  the  village  of  Jouy-en-Argonne." 

"  Ah !  yes,  Jouy  !  And  how  is  the  child  ?  Quite 
well,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Your  daughter  is  growing  ;  she  is  nearly  three 
years  old.  Ah,  would  to  God  the  child  had  never 
lived  !  "  and  Herminie's  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears. 

"  Do  not  cry  !  Do  not  be  unhappy  !  "  said  the  baron, 
without  losing  his  calm  indifference.  *'  Look,  Herminie,. 
be  reasonable.  Your  tears  and  sighs  may  attract  at- 
tention— all  the  house  is  already  talking  of  my  coming  ; 
do  you  want  them  to  know  that  which  it  is  to  your 
interest  to  hide  ?  " 

Herminie  raised  her  head  and  said  proudly,  "  When 
I  gave  myself  to  you,  monsieur,  it  was  my  heart  alone 
that  spoke — to-day  reason  dictates  my  course  of  action. 
The  hour  of  madness  that  made  me  yield  to  your  em- 
brace is  over  ;  I  live  no  longer  for  love.  The  flame  ot 
the  past  is  extinguished  in  me.  In  looking  over  my 
life  I  find  now  only  cinders  and  ruin.     But  I  have  z 


is6  Padame  JtaHtat. 

child — your  daughter  Alice — I  must  live  for  her,  for 
her  sake  I  must  keep  up  appearances." 

"  You  are  quite  right  !  The  world  is  pitiless,  my 
dear  Herminie,  in  cases  of  little  adventures  like  ours  ! 
But  we  were  both,  as  you  say,  unreasonable  ;  madness 
filled  our  brains  ;  it  was  an  intoxication — we  are  now 
fully  awakened.  But  it  is  always  thus  ;  one  cannot  be 
all  one's  life  mad  and  drunk." 

And  the  baron  made  a  gesture  indicative  of  foolish- 
ness and  cynical  disgust. 

Herminie  advanced  toward  him,  severely,  almost 
tragically. 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron,  I  no  longer  love  you,"  she 
said. 

"  Really,  it  is  a  great  misfortune  for  me." 

«'  Do  not  jest  !  Oh,  I  know  quite  well  that  you  no 
longer  love  me.  Did  you  ever  love  me  ?  I  felt  for  you 
a  moment's  distraction — a  flash  of  heart-fire — no,  not 
of  the  heart — it  was  rather  a  sensuous  pleasure,  a  way 
of  using  the  unemployed  hours  in  a  dark,  provincial 
retreat.  You  had  come  here  on  business.  The  life  of 
gentlemen  and  soldiers,  with  their  easy  pleasures  and 
their  wild  carousing,  seemed  to  you  dull  and  beneath 
your  dignity  ;  you,  a  brilliant  personage  at  court,  a 
visitor  at  Trianon,  a  friend  of  the  Prince  de  Robau  and 
the  Count  de  Naibonne.  You  saw  me  in  my  corner, 
sad,  alone,  dreaming." 

"  You  were  charming,  Herminie  !  You  are  ever 
desirable  and  lovely,  but  then  you  had  for  me  an 
irresistible  attraction,  a  piquancy,  a  savor." 


^aflame  £nn$-(&tM,  157 

««  I  have  lost  it  all  now,  have  I  not  ?  " 

«*  No,  I  protest,"  said  the  baron  gallantly. 

"  Do  not  lie  to  me.  I  am  changed  in  your  eyes. 
You  see  how  it  is.  I  told  you  it  would  be  so.  I  loved 
you  once,  and  now  I  care  no  longer  for  you." 

"  I  like  it  better  so,"  thought  the  baron.  And  he 
added  to  himself,  **  Ah,  things  are  going  smoothly. 
The  rupture  will  come  without  a  fuse,  without  tears 
and  reproaches.     It  is  perfect." 

He  extended  his  hand  to  Herminie. 

■"  We  shall  be  friends,  shall  we  not  ?  "  he  said. 

The  young  woman  stood  unmoved,  refusing  the  hand 
Lowendaal  offered. 

A  curl  of  her  lips  showed  her  disdain. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  she  said,  in  a  cold  voice.  "I  was 
far  from  thoughts  of  love  here.  I  was  destined  to  the 
convent,  and  I  was  quite  ready  to  obey  them  who 
offered  me  the  cloister  as  a  dignified  and  worthy 
retreat  for  a  girl  of  my  position,  with  a  great  name 
and  no  fortune.  Here,  with  Mademoiselle  de  Bid- 
court,  I  waited  for  the  hour  to  take  my  vows.  You 
told  me  that  I  would  not  regret  the  world,  which  I  had 
scarce  seen,  but  one  glimpse  of  which  (though  false) 
would  be  gladdening.  I  had  envied  those  of  my  com- 
panions whose  wealth  would  enable  them  to  marry  and 
go  through  life  with  joy  in  their  hearts  and  pride  on 
their  faces,  beside  husband  and  children.  This  happi- 
ness was  not  for  me.     I  was  becoming  resigned " 

"  You  were  one  of  those  to  whom  life  should  have 
given  nothing  but  joy  !  " 


158  Padam*  gm$-(&tnt. 

"  And  to  whom  she  has  given  only  bitterness.  Par- 
don me,  sir,  that  I  remind  you  of  these  sad  occurrences. 
But  it  was  then,  when  my  abandonment  seemed  com- 
plete, and  when  I  saw  my  youth,  my  desire,  my 
dreams  all  sacrificed — it  was  then  that  you  came  to 
me.  Did  I  know  what  I  was  doing  ?  Alas,  I  knew 
not !  Oh,  it  is  of  no  use  to  begin  recrimination  ;  but 
to-day,  in  this  interview  which  is  to  be  decisive  for  us 
both,  perhaps,  let  me  put  one  question  to  you." 

"  What  ?  Speak  !  You  are  at  liberty  to  put  ten, 
aye,  twenty  questions  !  What  do  you  fear  ?  What 
doubt  possesses  you  ?  " 

"  I  no  longer  fear,"  said  Herminie  sadly  ;  "  alas,  I 
have  forfeited  the  right  to  doubt !  Monsieur  le  Baron, 
you  swore  to  make  me  your  wife  ;  are  you  come  to-day 
to  fulfil  your  promise  ?  " 

*•  The  devil  !  Now  it's  out,"  thought  the  baron  ;  and 
with  a  smile  that  scarce  hid  a  grimace,  he  murmured, 
"Your  demand  staggers  me — and,  I  vow,  embarrasses 
me — I  have  not  forgotten  that  once,  in  a  moment  of 
madness,  as  you  just  called  it,  I  did  make  that  promise. 
Oh,  I  do  not  retract  it — but  I  pray  you  to  remember 
that  I  hold  for  you  ever  most  respectful,  ardent,  sincere 
sentiments  ;  yet " 

"  Yet  you  refuse  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  so." 

••  Then  you  consent  ?  Look  you,  answer  directly.  I 
have  told  you  that  I  no  longer  fear  or  doubt.  I  might 
add  that  Hope,  which  once  walked  by  my  side  has  sud- 
denly, at   a  turn  of  the   road,  forsaken  me.      I    await 


Padame  gm$-(5tnt.  159 

your  answer  with  the  calmness  of  a  heart  where  all  is 
still — where  all  is  dead." 

"  Heavens  !  My  dear  Herminie,  you  take  me  at  a 
disadvantage.  I  did  not  come  to  Verdun  exactly  for 
the  sake  of  marrying.  Weighty  matters,  interests  of 
prime  importance,  made  my  presence  here  necessary  ; 
and  it  were  a  poor  time  to  choose  for  nuptial  joys." 

"Do  not  speak  of  joy  between  us  two.   So  you  refuse  ?  " 

"  No — but  I  pray  you  accord  me  delay.  Wait  till 
peace  is  established — it  will  not  be  long " 

"  You  think  so  ?  You  hope  that  the  cowards  and 
traitors  will  carry  the  day,  and  that  Verdun  will  not 
defend  itself?  " 

"  I  believe  that  defence  is  impossible.  The  artisans, 
villagers,  smiths,  and  cobblers,  will  not  be  able  to 
resist  the  armies  of  the  king  and  the  emperor." 

"  Do  not  insult  the  brave  men  who  fight  like  heroes 
to  rid  themselves  of  traitors  and  incapable  rulers,"  said 
Herminie  energetically. 

"  I  insult  no  one,"  said  the  baron  in  his  insinuating 
tones.  "  I  simply  ask  you  to  consider  that  the  town  has 
no  garrison." 

"  It  will  have  one,  very  soon,"  murmured  she. 

«*  What  did  you  say  ?  "  cried  the  baron,  astonished. 

"  I  say — Look  !  Hark  !  "  And  Herminie  made  a 
sign  for  the  baron  to  listen. 

A  confused  murmur,  cries,  and  cheers  came  toward 
the  town. 

The  joyous  sound  of  drums  was  mingled  with  the 
tread  of  marching  feet. 


160  gftadame  gm$-<&tnt. 

The  baron  grew  pale. 

"What  is  this  uproar  ?  "  said  he.  "  Doubtless  some 
uprising.  The  inhabitants,  who  insist  on  opening  the 
gates,  and  will  not  listen  to  the  idea  of  a  siege." 

"  No,  that  noise  is  a  different  one,  Monsieur  le 
Baron  !  Once  more,  will  you  hold  to  your  promise  and 
give  to  our  child,  to  our  daughter  Alice,  the  name,  the 
rank,  and  the  fortune  which  are  her  due  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you,  madame,  that  just  now  I  will  not 
— I  cannot  do  so.  Listen — I  have  important  matters 
to  see  to —  What,  the  devil  !  Be  patient !  I  tell  you, 
when  peace  is  established  !  When  the  rebels  are 
punished,  and  when  his  majesty  returns  quietly  (not  to 
the  Tuileries,  for  the  Revolutionists  could  take  it  too 
easily)  but  to  Versailles,  then  I  shall  see  !  I  shall 
decide  !  " 

*'  Take  care,  sir  !  I  am  a  woman  who  will  take  ven- 
geance on  one  who  swears  falsely  ! " 

"Threats  !  Well,"  said  the  baron,  sneering,  "  I  like 
it  best  so.     They  are  less  dangerous  than  your  tears  ! " 

"  I  repeat  once  more,  take  care  !  You  think  me 
weak,  alone,  and  uninfluential  !  You  may  be  mistaken." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  madame,  that  you  cannot  frighten 
me  !  " 

"  Do  you  not  hear  the  approaching  noise  ?  It  is  the 
soldiers  that  come  here  !  " 

"  Really  !  It  is  strange  !  Can  the  Prussians  be  in 
the  town  already  ?  "  murmured  the  baron. 

And  he  listened,  with  evident  inward  satisfaction, 
adding  to  himself,    "  They  are  come  in  good  time,  our 


Padame  Jtettg-Gtot*.  161 

friends,  the  enemy,  to  cut  short  this  stupid  history^ and 
to  give  me  a  decent  pretext  for  getting  away  from  this 
tiresome  girl." 

*•  They  are  not  Prussians,"  said  Herminie,  trium- 
phantly ;  "  they  are  the  patriots  who  have  come  to  help 
Verdun." 

"  The  re-enforcements  they  expected  !  Why,  it  cannot 
be  !  Lafayette  is  with  the  Austrian  powers.  Dumouriez 
is  in  camp  at  Maulde.  Dillon  is  bought  by  the  allied 
forces.     Whence,  then,  can  re-enforcements  come  ?  " 

"  You  shall  know." 

And  Herminie,  opening  the  door  of  her  oratory,  said 
to  a  woman  who  was  in  the  next  room,  with  two  little 
children,  "  Come  in,  madame,  and  let  M.  le  Baron  de 
Lowendaal  know  whose  drums  they  are  that  wake  this 
town  ! " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   ARRIVAL   OF  THE  VOLUNTEERS. 

A  FAIR  young  woman  entered. 

She  gave  a  military  salute  and  said,  looking  directly 
at  the  baron  :  "  Catharine  Lefebvrc,  cantiniree  in  the 
13th,  at  your  service.  You  want  to  know  the  news  ? 
It  is  the  battalion  of  Mayenne-et-Loire  which  is  making 
its  entry  into  Verdun,  with  a  company  of  the  13th, 
which  is  under  command  of  my  husband,  Francois 
Lefebvre.  Hein !  mademoiselle,  it  is  a  fine  surprise 
for  the  world  !  " 
II 


1 62  gjBadam*  £m$-<&tnt. 

The  baron  murmured,  disappointedly,  "  The  battal- 
ion of  Mayenne-et-Loire  !     What  is  it  doing  here  ?  " 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  ?  "  said  Catharine. 
"  Why  !  Burn  out  the  Prussians,  reassure  the  pa- 
triots, trample  on  the  aristos  if  they  dare  to  move." 

"Well  told,  madame  !  "  said  Herminie.  "  Now,  please 
name  the  chief  of  the  volunteers  at  Mayenne-et-Loire  ; 
it  will  please  monsieur." 

" The  commander  is  the  brave  Beaurepaire." 

"  Beaurepaire  !  "  said  the  baron,  frightened. 

"  Yes,  my  brother  !  who,  an  hour  before  his  entry 
into  the  town,  sent  me  this  brave  woman  to  let  me 
know  and  reassure  me,"  said  Herminie,  whose  pale 
face  was  aglow  with  joy. 

"  One  would  imagine  this  news  disconcerted  you, 
little  man,"  said  Catharine  Lefebvre,  tapping  the  dis- 
concerted baron  familiarly  on  the  shoulder.  »« You 
can't  be  a  patriot  !  Ah,  be  careful ;  look  you  for  the 
aristos  who  wanted  to  talk  of  capitulation  ;  they  will 
have  little  sport  among  us  !  " 

••  How  many  volunteers  are  there  ?  "  asked  the  baron 
solicitously. 

«•  Four  hundred,  and  then  there  is  my  husband, 
Lefebvre's,  company.  That  makes  in  all  five  hundred 
hares  who  want  to  stir  the  town,  see  !  " 

The  baron's  face  had  become  calm  again. 

"  Five  hundred  men  !  The  ill  is  not  so  great  as  I 
feared  !  These  five  hundred  wretches  cannot  take  the 
town,  particularly  if  the  population,  now  well  worked 
up,  demand   a  capitulation.     The   worst   is   the  pres- 


$tadame  gm$-(&tnt.  163 

ence  of  this  Beaurepaire  !  How  shall  I  get  rid  of 
him  ?  " 

Herminie,  meantime,  had  been  to  get  one  of  the  two 
children  in  the  next  room. 

She  brought  in  a  little  blonde  child,  pale  and  fright- 
ened, who  tottered  on  her  thin  legs,  and  said,  "  Here  is 
your  daughter,  monsieur,  do  you  not  want  to  kiss  her  ?  " 

Lowendaal,  hiding  a  scowl,  turned  to  the  child  and 
kissed  her  forehead  quickly. 

The  child  was  afraid  and  began  to  cry. 

Then  entering  from  the  other  room,  a  little  lad,  wear- 
ing a  liberty  cap  with  the  national  cockade,  came  to  the 
little  girl  and  quieted  her,  saying,  "  Don't  cry  !  We'll 
go  and  play,  Alice  ;  they're  going  to  shoot  !  Poum  ! 
Poum  !  a  cannon  is  such  fun  ! " 

Catharine  Lefebvre  looked  proudly  at  him,  saying, 
*'  That's  my  little  Henriot,  a  future  sergeant  I  am 
bringing  up,  while  I  have  as  yet  none  of  my  own  to 
teach  the  defence  of  the  Republic." 

Herminie  pressed  the  cantiniere's  hand  affectionately 
and  said  to  the  baron  : 

"  This  excellent  woman  is  travelling  with  the  regi- 
ment. When  they  reached  Jouy-en-Argonne,  Com- 
mander Beaurepaire  called  her  and  asked  her  to  find  a 
certain  house  in  the  town,  where  there  was  a  child  he 
named — he  described  the  house  to  her— then  he  asked 
her  to  take  the  child  and  to  apprise  me  of  the  arrival 
of  the  volunteers,  of  the  presence  of  a  protector  for  my 
child's  unfortunate, forsaken  mother.  That  is  how  your 
daughter  happened  to  be  here,  monsieur  !  " 


1 64.  g&adanw  £att0-tfnie. 

"Then,"  stammered  Lowendaal,  "the  General 
Beaurepaire  knows " 

"  Everything,"  said  Herminie,  firmly.  "  Oh,  it  was 
a  sad  confession  ;  but  I  had  no  hope  save  in  my 
brother,  and  I  knew  not  how  he  would  receive  the 
sad  confidence  I  gave  him  that  day  when,  discouraged 
and  weary  of  everything,  I  hoped  to  die." 

«•  And  your  brother  was  lenient  ?  "  said  the  baron, 
trying  to  seem  calm  and  indifferent,  though  he  was  be- 
ginning to  be  much  agitated. 

"  My  brother  has  forgiven  me — he  has  hastened  to 
come  and  help  me — to  set  me  free.  The  volunteers  o* 
Mayenne-et-Loire,  enrolled  by  him,  have  crossed  France 
at  a  run " 

"  Ah,  heaven,  what  marches  they  were,"  exclaimed 
Catharine.  "  We  were  so  anxious  to  arrive  in  time  to 
help  the  good  town  of  Verdun  ;  but  General  Beaure- 
paire seems  to  have  wings  on  his  feet." 

The  roll  of  the  drums  came  nearer.  The  town 
seemed  joyous.  Cries  of  delight  rose  loudly  on  the 
banks  of  the  Meuse. 

"  I  must  go,"  said  the  baron.  "  I  am  expected  at  the 
Court-house." 

"  And  I  must  meet  my  husband,"  said  Catharine. 
"  Come,  march,  young  recruit  !  "  she  added,  taking 
hold  of  little  Henriot. 

The  boy  resisted.  He  had  kept  the  little  girl's  petti* 
coat  in  his  hand,  and  seemed  anxious  to  stay  with  her. 

"  See  the  dandy,"  said  Sans-Ggne,  good-humoredly, 
••  he  attaches  himself  already  to  the  ladies  1     Ah,  he  is 


gj&adame  gxn$-(&tnt.  165 

a  promising  boy  !  March,  little  one,  you  shall  come 
again — you  shall  see  your  little  maid  again  when  we 
have  given  the  Prussians  a  necessary  thrashing." 

"  Madame,"  said  Herminie,  much  moved,  *'  I  shall 
never  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me.  Tell  my 
brother  I  bless  you  and  shall  come  to  him.  As  for 
this  child,"  she  added,  pointing  to  Alice,  who  smiled  at 
little  Henriot  as  if  she,  too,  wanted  him  to  stay,  "  if  by 
any  misfortune  I  should  be  unfit  to  defend,  love,  and 
guard  her,  see  that  she  gets  to  my  brother." 

"Count  on  me  ;  I  have  already  this  little  lad  to  take 
in  my  carriole,  and  that  would  give  me  a  pair  sufficient 
to  make  me  patient  while  I  wait  for  the  arrival  of  any  of 
my  own.  May  it  not  be  long,"  she  said,  laughing  her 
jolly  laugh  and  laying  her  hand  upon  her  ample  breast. 
•*  Au  revoir,  madame,  I  must  go  now,  my  soldiers  need 
me  there,  and  Lefebvre  will  be  astounded  not  to  find 
me  in  the  ranks." 

Taking  little  Henriot,  who  had  become  sulky  and 
cross  at  being  taken  so  soon  from  little  Alice,  Catharine 
hurried  to  rejoin  the  detachment  of  the  13th,  which  was 
encamped  in  the  town. 

Herminie,  after  a  frigid  bow  to  the  baron,  had  re- 
treated into  the  next  room  with  her  child,  whom  she 
covered  with  kisses. 

Lowendaal  went  off,  sadly,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Court-house,  saying  to  himself,  "  If  a  capitulation  could 
rid  me  of  this  Beaurepaire.  But  no  !  that  enraged  fel- 
low is  capable  of  defending  the  town  and  making  me 
marry  his  sister.  Ah  !  into  what  a  wasp's  nest  I  have 
run." 


1 66  Padame  £an.«i-<S*tte. 

And  ill-satisfied  with  the  turn  of  affairs,  the  baron 
went  to  the  Court-house,  where  the  notables  were 
already  assembled,  on  the  convocation  of  the  President 
of  the  Directory,  Ternaux,  and  the  Attorney-general 
Gossin,  two  traitors,  whose  names  should  be  kept 
nailed  on  a  pillory  by  posterity. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BRUNSWICK'S    MESSENGER. 

In  the  great  hall  of  the  Court-house  of  Verdun,  by 
the  light  of  torches,  sat  the  members  of  the  districts 
and  the  great  men. 

Commander  Bellemond  was  there,  too. 

President  Ternaux  having  opened  the  meeting,  At- 
torney-general Gossin  explained  the  situation. 

The  Duke  of  Brunswick  had  encamped  before  the 
gates  of  the  city.  Should  they  be  opened  to  him  and 
should  the  imperial  generalissmo  be  hailed  as  a  liber- 
ator, or  should  he  be  shut  out,  and  should  cannon-shot 
answer  cannon-shot  until  the  town  was  laid  low  ?  It 
was  fear  that  suggested  the  question. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  attorney  in  a  low  voice,  "our 
hearts  bleed  at  the  idea  of  the  horrors  which  would 
result  to  Verdun  from  a  siege.  Gentlemen,  resistance 
against  so  strong  an  enemy  were  madness.  Will  you 
receive  a  person  who  comes  to  you  with  a  conciliatory 
message  ?  " 


Padame  gm$-(8tnt.  167 

And  the  president  looked  solicitously  at  the  assembly, 
asking  their  co-operation. 

*•  Yes,  we  will,"  answered  several  voices. 

"  I  shall  then,  gentlemen,"  said  the  president,  **  intro- 
duce the  person  who  bears  the  message." 

A  movement  of  curiosity  was  made. 

All  eyes  turned  towards  the  door  of  the  president's 
office. 

It  opened  quickly,  admitting  a  young  man  in  citizen's 
costume.  He  was  very  pale,  and  carried  his  arm  in  a 
sling. 

He  seemed  to  have  been  very  ill. 

*'  M.  the  Count  de  Neipperg,  aide-de-camp  of  General 
Clerfayt,  general-in-chief  of  the  Austrian  army,"  said 
the  president,  presenting  Brunswick's  messenger. 

He  was  none  other  than  the  young  Austrian  whom 
Catharine  had  saved,  on  the  morning  of  the  ioth  of 
August. 

Scarce  well  of  his  wound,  under  Catharine's  excellent 
care,  he  had  left  Paris  and  reached  the  Austrian  head- 
quarters. 

Though  still  suffering,  he  had  been  anxious  to  enter 
upon  active  duty.  The  memory  of  Blanche  de  Laveline 
caused  him  keener  suffering  than  his  hurt.  And,  think- 
ing of  his  child,  little  Henriot,  exposed  to  all  the  perils 
of  his  strange  birth,  in  the  remembrance  of  Lowendaal's 
power  and  the  marquis's  desire  to  force  Blanche  into  a 
marriage  which  would  part  them  forever,  Neipperg 
felt  a  slow  and  exquisite  torture.  He  must  forget,  and 
war  would  leave  him  little  time  for  sad  retrospection. 
So  he  was  glad  to  be  able  to  serve  once  more. 


1 68  Padam*  gm&-(&tnt. 

General  Clerfayt,  appreciating  the  bravery  and  tact 
of  Neipperg,  had  made  him  his  aide-de-camp. 

As  he  spoke  French  perfectly,  the  general  had  chosen 
him  to  carry  to  the  great  men  and  the  authorities  of 
Verdun  the  propositions  for  capitulation. 

After  saluting  the  assembly,  the  young  envoy  made 
known  Brunswick's  conditions  :  they  consisted  in  the 
surrender  of  the  town,  with  its  citadel,  within  twenty- 
four  hours,  under  penalty  of  seeing  Verdun  exposed  to 
a  bombardment,  and  its  inhabitants  delivered  after  the 
assault  to  the  fury  of  the  soldiers. 

Amid  absolute  silence  were  these  hard  conditions 
spoken. 

It  were  well  to  call  one's-self  a  royalist,  as  these 
men  would  have  to  do  who  feared  for  their  property  ; 
and  yet  it  was  hard  for  these  rich  villagers  to  hear, 
without  resenting  it,  such  haughty  and  insulting  con- 
ditions. 

Several  of  those  poltroons  would  not  have  been  sorry 
to  take  part  in  a  brave  protestation,  though  only  for 
form's  sake  and  to  save  the  appearance  of  honor. 

But  no  word  was  spoken.  No  one  seemed  to  dare  to 
call  down  upon  Verdun  the  anger  of  the  Germans. 

Neipperg  stood  motionless,  his  eyes  dropped.  He 
was  inwardly  indignant  at  the  cowardice  of  these  mer- 
chants, who  preferred  shame  and  the  dismembering  of 
their  country  to  a  resistance  which  would  expose  their 
houses  to  the  play  of  artillery. 

Within  himself  he  thought  these  could  not  be  the 
Frenchmen  of  the  ioth  of  August  against  whom  he  had 


Padam*  JtaHBctt.  169 

fought,  and  who  had  made  the  impassioned  assault  upon 
the  Tuileries. 

He  had  only  admiration  for  the  patriots  who  had 
wounded  him.  The  heart  of  a  true  soldier  keeps  no- 
ill-feeling  after  the  battle.  But  the  craven  fear  of  these 
men  made  him  angry,  and  their  shameful  silence  hurt 
him. 

He  wanted  to  get  away,  to  breathe  freely,  where  he 
could  not  see  this  revolting  spectacle  of  collective  cow- 
ardice. 

His  old  wound  seemed  to  inflame  in  contact  with, 
these  trembling  wretches,  these  arrant  traitors. 

He  looked  up  and  said,  coldly ;  «  You  have  heard, 
gentlemen,  the  communication  of  the  general  ;  what 
answer  shall  I  take  to  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  ?  " 

And  he  waited,  paler  than  at  his  entrance,  his  hand 
laid  upon  the  table  for  support. 

A  voice  spoke  in  the  general  silence  :  "  Do  you  think, 
gentlemen,  that  in  bowing  before  the  merciful  senti- 
ments of  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  you  could  best  make 
answer  ?  or  shall  we  let  the  duke  fire  upon  the 
town  ?  " 

It  was  Lowendaal  who  spoke. 

Neipperg  recognized  his  rival.  A  flush  mounted  to 
his  brow. 

He  made  an  instinctive  movement  to  step  up  to  the 
baron  and  provoke  him. 

But  he  reflected — he  was  an  ambassador — he  had  a. 
mission  to  fulfil  and  could  not  act  aggressively  now. 

Another  thought  crossed  his  mind  at  the  same  time. 


170  Padame  £att$-$nw. 

«'  If  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal  were  in  Verdun,  was 
Blanche  de  Laveline  there,  too  ?  " 

How  could  he  find  out  ?  How  see  and  speak  to 
her? 

He  hoped  the  baron  would  unconsciously  let  him 
know  Blanche's  retreat. 

He  must  seem,  therefore,  to  be  quiet,  and  must  look 
and  listen. 

A  quick  murmur  had  followed  Lowendaal's  words. 

"What's  he  meddling  for?"  said  the  men,  talking 
together.  "  Has  he  houses,  ware-rooms,  merchandise 
in  the  city  ?  Does  he  expect  to  take  part  in  plun- 
dering the  town  ?  Since  resistance  is  impossible,  and 
the  commander  knows  it,  what  good  would  it  do  to 
permit  a  universal  massacre  and  expose  our  homes  and 
our  goods  to  an  artillery  fire  ?  " 

"  Our  population  is  wise  ;  it  declines  the  horrors  of 
a  siege,"  said  the  president.  "The  proposition  of  the 
Marquis  de  Lowendaal  would  strike  only  an  imbecile. 
Now  we  have  in  the  town  no  brawlers  ;  they  have  all 
left  the  city  and  taken  refuge  near  Thionville  ;  there 
they  met  a  few  of  their  own  kind,  and  one  Billaud- 
Varennes,  who  bought  them  arms.  We  trust  they 
will  never  return  to  Verdun.  Gentlemen,  are  you 
minded  to  imitate  them  ?  Do  you  want  to  be  shot 
down  ? " 

"  No  !  no  !  No  bombardment !  We  will  sign  at 
once  !  "  cried  twenty  voices. 

And  the  most  anxious  ones  seized  pens,  and,  turning 
toward  the  president,  asked  him  to  let  them  sign  at  once 


$Uulame  JtauH&*t.  171 

the  acceptance  of  capitulation  which  had  been  prepared 
in  advance  before  the  arrival  of  the  Austrian  army. 

Neipperg  looked  in  silence  upon  the  meeting,  peace- 
ably begun,  but  which  now  threatened  to  become  a 
quarrel. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  stood  aside. 

"  I  might  as  well  not  have  spoken,"  he  said. 

Already  the  president,  pen  in  hand,  sought  to  main- 
tain his  right  to  sign  first,  as  head  of  the  town,  the 
order  of  capitulation,  when  a  distant  fusilade  sounded, 
and  drums  were  beaten  in  various  quarters,  while 
directly  below  the  windows  of  the  Court-house  were 
heard  voices  singing  the  "  Ca  ira  !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 
beaurepaire's  oath. 

Every  one  had  risen  in  wild  bewilderment. 

The  least  stunned  had  sought  the  windows. 

The  town  seemed  lighted  as  for  a  fe"te. 

In  the  market-place  torches  burned,  and  women  and' 
children  clapped  their  hands  and  formed  a  fantastic 
circle  around  the  red  light. 

It  was  the  volunteers  of  Mayenne-et-Loire  who  had 
sung  the  "fa  tra,"  giving  the  signal  for  the  uprising  of 
the  bewildered  town. 

There  were  few  men  in  the  crowd  ;  they  stood  apart, 


172  Padame  gm$-(&tnt. 

seeming  to  participate  only  with  their  eyes  in  the  martial 
tumult. 

The  attorney-general  spoke  to  the  president. 

"  Those  damned  volunteers  are  making  a  great 
noise,"  said  M.  Fernaux  impatiently. 

M.  Gossin  answered,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"Patience  !  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  will  soon  rid  us  of 
them  !  "  And  he  added,  "  I  trust  those  escaped  devils 
will  not  draw  down  a  bombardment  upon  us  !  " 

At  that  moment  a  red  light  filled  the  space,  and  a 
flaming  bolt  fell  against  one  of  the  houses  on  the 
corner,  while  a  loud  detonation  shook  the  court-house. 

"  Ah  !  I  foresaw  it  !  "  cried  the  attorney.  "  The 
Prussians  are  firing  our  houses  !  There  is  the  bom- 
bardment you  asked  !     Are  you  satisfied,  Baron  ?  " 

He  had  turned  to  seek  Lowendaal,  but  the  latter  had 
disappeared. 

Impatient,  and  anxious  to  follow  him,  and  believing 
that  Lowendaal  had  betaken  himself  to  Blanche  de 
Laveline,  Neipperg  wanted  to  retire. 

"  I  have  no  further  business  here,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  taking  his  leave.  "  The  cannon  has  spoken,  so  I 
well  may  be  silent.  I  shall  return  to  my  place.  My 
answer  is  your  powder  which  has  been  set  to  do  its 
fell  work." 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  begged  the  president,  "  do 
not  go  !  remain  !  it  is  a  mistake  ;  all  will  be  explained 
— arranged ' ' 


"  I  cannot   see   how,"   said  Neipperg,  with    a   grim 
smile.  "  Listen !      The   cannon    from    your    ramparts 


Padame  gm$-(Stnt.  173 

answer  our  howitzers.  The  drum  beats  in  your  streets. 
It  seems  to  me  they  are  coming  to  the  court-house  to 
get  shot  and  to  find  extra  ammunition." 

In  reality  the  drum  was  heard  on  the  stairs  of  the 
court-house,  and  many  feet  ascended  the  steps.  They 
heard  on  the  pavement  of  the  vestibule  the  stocks  of 
the  guns. 

"  Do  they  dare  come  here  ?  "  cried  the  exasperated 
attorney.  "Monsieur  le  G6n6ral,"  he  cried  to  Belle- 
mond,  director  of  the  fortifications  and  of  the  artillery  ; 
"  Come  quickly  ;  sign  an  order  for  the  silencing  of  the 
drums  and  the  retreat  of  the  men  to  their  quarters 
which  have  been  assigned  to  them  ! " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  faint-hearted  officer,  "  I 
shall  give  orders  ;  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Verdun  will 
be  quiet " 

••  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Verdun  will  be  in  flames,  and 
we  shall  chant  the  Marseillaise  to  the  sound  of  the 
cannon  !  "  cried  a  loud  voice  behind  them. 

The  door  had  been  pushed  open,  and  Beaurepaire, 
accompanied  by  Lefebvre,  and  surrounded  by  the 
soldiers  of  the  13th  and  the  volunteers  of  Mayenne- 
et  Loire,  terrible  as  gods  of  war,  burst  in  among  those 
frightened  civilians. 

The  president  attempted  to  assert  his  authority. 

"  Who  authorized  you,  sir,  to  come  and  trouble  the 
deliberations  of  the  municipality  and  the  citizens  as- 
sembled in  council  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  voice  which  he  in 
vain  endeavored  to  render  firm. 

"They  say,"  said  Beaurepaire  quietly,  "  that  you  are 


174  Padam*  ^ang-flkne. 

scheming  here  for  an  infamous  act  of  treason  ;  that  you 
talk  of  rendering  up  the  city  !  Is  it  true,  citizens  ? 
Speak !  " 

"  We  do  not  need  to  apprise  you,  General,  of  the  res- 
olutions of  the  authorities  ;  go  back  with  your  men,  and 
stop  this  firing  which  you  have  ordered  without  per- 
mission of  the  council  for  the  defence,"  exclaimed  the 
president,  feeling  himself  upheld  by  his  associates. 

Beaurepaire  reflected  a  moment,  then  taking  off  his 
hat  said,  respectfully  : 

"  Gentlemen,  it  is  true,  I  did  not  wait  for  orders 
from  the  council  for  the  defence,  to  fire  upon  the  Prus- 
sians, who  already  surround  the  gates  and  are  prepared 
to  enter  at  the  first  signal — a  signal  they  seem  to  expect 
from  here.  I  have  barricaded  the  gates ;  my  good 
friend,  Lefebvre,  here,  has  placed  his  look-outs  on  both 
sides  of  every  palisade,  and  the  enemy  has  retired. 
At  the  same  time,  to  keep  them  from  seeing  too  closely 
what  we  are  doing  on  the  ramparts,  I  have  sent  a  few- 
balls  among  them  which  have  made  the  Austrians 
keep  back  ;  they  were  too  anxious  to  pay  us  a  visit. 
I  had  just  arrived  with  my  men  when  I  learned  the 
state  of  things,  and  I  vow  I  never  thought  of  consider- 
ing the  advice  of  a  defensive  council." 

"You  were  wrong,  Commander,"  said  the  artillery 
director,  Bellemond. 

"Comrade,"  said  the  general,  "that  is  my  business. 
I  shall  answer,  if  need  be,  for  my  conduct  to  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  people,  who  will  soon  be  here.  I 
respect  the  Commune  of  Verdun  and  her  civil  officers. 


Padarne  gm$-(&tne.  175 

I  trust  they  are  patriots,  ready  to  do  their  duty.  I 
shall  take  their  orders  for  all  that  concerns  the  interior 
service  and  the  political  measures.  I  know  the  obe- 
dience soldiers  owe  to  the  representatives  of  the  people. 
But  for  that  which  regards  me  as  a  soldier,  and  the  fire 
of  the  howitzers  I  direct  against  the  Prussians,  you  must 
let  me,  comrade,  do  as  I  will.  Take  that  as  your  answer^ 
I  am  here  as  your  equal,  and  we  have  but  to  act  together 
to  repulse  the  enemy  and  save  the  town." 

These  words,  uttered  in  a  strong  voice,  impressed 
Bellemond,  a  subaltern  but  lately  promoted,  and  who- 
would  have  acted  bravely  had  he  not  been  dominated 
by  the  president  and  the  attorney. 

"  But,"  he  suggested,  "  since  such  council  exists,, 
should  you  not  consult  them  before  beginning  a  bat- 
tle ?  " 

"  When  the  enemy  is  at  the  gates,  and  when  the  sol- 
diers within  the  town  hesitate,  the  council  for  defence,, 
when  consulted,  could  give  no  other  order  to  the  head 
of  the  troops  than  to  bar  the  way,  place  his  men  oa 
the  ramparts,  open  his  guns  upon  the  approaching 
enemy,  and  fire  !  That  is  what  I  have  done,  com- 
rade !  just  as  if  I  had  had  time  to  consult  the  council 
over  which  you  preside.  But,  really,  could  there  have 
been  other  advice  ?  Could  they  have  given  me  a  dif- 
ferent order  ?  All  they  can  reproach  me  with  is  not 
having  opened  fire  quickly  enough.  But  the  ammuni- 
tion was  wanting.  There  it  is  !  Listen  !  Ah,  it  grows 
•warm  ! " 

Louder  and  louder  reports   followed   Beaurepaire's 


176  P«4amc  £a«i@i-$*Jtt. 

words.  It  was  from  the  direction  of  Porte  Saint-Victor 
that  they  came. 

The  men  trembled.  Many  feared  for  their  houses, 
for  surely  the  Prussians  and  Austrians  would  answer 
that  furious  cannonade  by  a  rain  of  shot. 

«'  Great  heaven  !  there's  a  brave  man,"  thought  Neip- 
perg, watching  the  open  countenance  of  Beaurepaire. 
**  A  look  at  him  makes  up  for  this  shameful  sight." 

And  he  advanced  to  him  politely,  saying,  "  General, 
I  dare  not  leave  you  in  ignorance  as  to  who  I  am — the 
Count  de  Neipperg,  aide-de-camp  of  General  Clerfayt." 

«« In  civilian's  garb  ?  "  Beaurepaire  looked  sternly  at 
the  man  who  thus  came  to  him. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  speak,  General,  but  was 
simply  charged  to  deliver  a  message  to  the  town  of 
Verdun  and  its  defensive  council,  from  the  general- 
issimo." 

"  Doubtless  a  demand  to  capitulate  !" 

"  You  are  correct,  sir." 

««  What  did  they  answer  here  ?  " 

Beaurepaire  threw  an  accusing  glance  upon  the  men 
and  the  municipal  officers,  who  lowered  their  eyes  and 
turned  their  heads. 

Gossin  whispered  to  the  president,  "  If  this  agent  of 
Brunswick  tells  all,  that  confounded  Beaurepaire  is 
quite  capable  of  having  his  brigands  shoot  us,  my  poor 
Ternaux." 

"  I  fear  so,  my  friend  Gossin,"  rejoined  the  president, 
sadly. 

Neipperg,   however,  said  quietly,    "  I  have   not  yet 


Padame  $attj*-<5m.  177 

had  time  to  receive  the  reply  of  these  gentlemen.  You, 
yourself,  took  charge  of  the  answer  to  the  general- 
issimo." 

This  frankness  pleased  Beaurepaire,  who  said  pres- 
ently, "  So,  sir,  your  mission  is  ended.  Will  you  per- 
mit me  to  conduct  you,  personally,  to  the  outposts  ?  " 

"  I  am  at  your  command,  General." 

Beaurepaire,  before  leaving  the  hall,  turned  a  last 
time  to  the  president  and  the  attorney-general,  saying 
to  them : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Commune,  I  have  sworn  to  my 
men  to  die  with  them  amid  the  ruins  of  Verdun  rather 
than  render  up  the  town.  I  trust  you  are  of  my  opin- 
ion ?  " 

"  But,  General,  if  the  entire  town  wanted  to  capitu- 
late ?  If  the  inhabitants  refused  to  permit  themselves 
to  be  besieged  ?  What  would  you  decide  ?  Would 
you  continue,  despite  the  wishes  of  the  populace,  your 
murderous  fire  ?  "  asked  the  president.  "  Well,  what 
would  you  do  ?    We  await  your  reply." 

Beaurepaire  waited  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  Should 
you  force  me  to  give  up  the  town,  mark  me  well,  sirs, 
rather  than  submit  to  such  shame  and  such  treason 
against  my  oath.  I  will  kill  myself !  I  have  sworn  to 
defend  Verdun  to  the  death  i' 

He  went  toward  the  door,  returned  abruptly,  and 
rapping  the  table  with  his  hand  cried,  "  Yes,  to  t?>« 
death  !  To  the  death  !  "  and  he  left,  followed  by  Neip- 
perg,  leaving  the  council  in  terror. 

"  He'd  kill  himself!  Faith,  it  would  be  a  fine  thing, 
12 


178  gftadam*  gnn$-(&tiat. 

and  a  comfort  for  everybody,"  thought  Lowendaal,  who* 
had  just  entered  noiselessly  into  the  council  chamber. 

They  questioned  him  as  to  the  doings  in  the  town. 

••They  are  firing  from  various  quarters,"  he  said, 
with  his  cynical  smile.  "The  volunteers  fly  to  the 
ramparts  like  deer.  Several  of  them  have  been  struck 
down.  Ah!  those  fanatics  of  the  13th  ;  among  them  is 
a  female  demon  ;  they  tell  me  she  is  the  wife  of  Captain 
Lefebvre,  a  cantiniere,  who  goes  and  comes,  carries- 
ammunition,  stands  beside  the  cannon,  pulls  the 
lighted  cotton  from  the  Prussian  bombs  which  fall 
upon  the  slopes.  I  actually  think  she  has  fired  the 
guns  of  the  fallen  soldiers  about  her,  and  has  not 
retired  until  every  shot  was  spent.  Happily,  there  are 
few  soldiers  like  this  Amazon,  or  the  Austrians  could 
never  enter  here  !  " 

"  Do  you  still  hope  for  it,  Baron  ?  "  said  the  president. 

"  More  than  ever.  This  siege  was  necessary,  as  I 
told  you  !  The  inhabitants  were  not  sufficiently  im- 
pressed. My  servant,  the  faithful  Leonard,  had  to  tell 
many  stories,  beside  my  instructions,  and  yet  they  were 
not  convinced.  They  hesitated  to  accept*  the  capitula- 
tion.    By  to-morrow  morning  they  will  demand  it." 

"  You  restore  our  confidence  !  " 

"  I  tell  you,  President,  they  will  force  you  to  sign  the 
capitulation." 

"  Heaven  grant  it,"  sighed  the  president,  "  but  the 
Duke  of  Brunswick's  envoy  has  returned  to  his  quar- 
ters. How  shall  we  cause  his  return  ?  He  had  the 
papers." 


gjftadame  £nn$-(8ent.  179 

•'  It  will  do  if  some  trusted  messenger  will  go  to  the 
Austrian  camp,  and  carry  your  duplicate,  with  the 
assurance  that  to-morrow  the  gates  will  be  open  to  the 
generalissimo." 

"  Who  will  undertake  such  a  mission  ?  " 

"  I,"  said  Lowendaal. 

"  Ah,  you  will  save  us,"  cried  the  president,  who, 
rising  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy,  embraced  him  as  if  he  were 
a  herald  announcing  a  victory.     . 


CHAPTER  XL 

LEONARD'S    MISSION. 

Some  moments  later,  Lowendaal,  with  the  duplicate 
letter  of  capitulation,  left  the  court-house,  and  joined 
Leonard,  who  was  waiting  for  him. 

In  a  low  voice,  though  no  one  was  near,  the  baron 
gave  him  a  detailed  order. 

Leonard  seemed  surprised,  showing,  however,  that  he 
understood  the  task  which  was  being  given  him ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  seeming  somewhat  embarrassed  if 
not  frightened,  he  repeated  his  master's  instructions 
twice  over. 

The  latter  said,  severely,  "  Do  you  hesitate,  Master 
Leonard  ?  You  know  that,  although  we  are  in  a 
besieged  town,  there  are  prisons,  and  police  to  take  there 
those  who — like  a  certain  person  I  know — who  coun* 


180  p»tae  gan$-(5tnt, 

terfeited  the  seal  of  the  State  and  gave  to  the  employes 
of  aides  and  magazines  false  receipts." 

"  Alas,  I  know  it,  Baron,"  said  Leonard,  in  a  sub- 
missive tone. 

"  If  you  know  it,  do  not  forget  !  "  rejoined  the  baron. 
"  I  am  sorry,  Leonard,  to  be  obliged  to  remind  so  de- 
voted a  servant  as  yourself,  that  I  saved  him  from  the 
gallows  ! " 

"  And  that  you  can  send  me  back  there  !  Oh,  sir, 
I  shall  remember  it !  " 

"  Then  you  will  obey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  !  But  remember  it  is  serious  ;  it  is  a  ter- 
rible thing  you  ask  me  to  do  ! ' " 

"  You  exaggerate  the  importance  of  this  matter  and 
ignore  the  confidence  I  choose  to  repose  in  you  !  By 
heaven,  Leonard,  I  am  used  to  more  docility,  more  de- 
votion, from  you  !  You  are  growing  ungrateful  !  To 
forget  benefits  is  a  dreadful  fault !  " 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  I  shall  be  eternally  grateful  to  you," 
wept  the  wretch  whom  Lowendaal  had  found  stealing 
from  farms  with  the  aid  of  false  stamps.  "  I  am  ready 
to  follow  and  to  obey  wherever  you  choose  to  take  or  to 
send  me.     But  what  you  order  now  is " 

«'  Abominable  !  You  have  raised  scruples,  Master 
Leonard,"  sneered  the  baron. 

"  I  should  not  dare  find  abominable  any  task  M.  le 
Baron  set  me.     I  wanted  to  say " 

"  Well,  your  idea  was  ?  I  am  curious  to  know  your 
opinion." 

•'  Oh,  sir — the — thing — is  dangerous — oh — not  for  any 


ittadame  Jfatt0-<S*tte.  181 

but  myself,"  he  hastened  to  add.  »■  For  should  I  be 
taken,  they  will  roast  me  alive  and  not  get  your 
name,  as  having  ordered  the  task." 

"  Even  then,  none  would  believe  you,"  said  the  baron, 
dryly,  "you  have  no  proof  of  such  an  order  from  me. 
Besides,  to  reassure  you,  let  me  say,  I  have  made  pro- 
vision  for  your  retreat  should  you  be  discovered  ;  but 
it  is  not  probable." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Leonard,  much  pleased. 

"  My  post-chaise  will  await  you  on  the  Commercy 
road,  near  the  Porte-Neuve.  There  is  no  fighting  on 
that  side." 

«'  But  how  shall  I  pass  through  ?  " 

"  As  on  a  mission  from  the  council  for  defence. 
Take  this  passport  and  return  to  me  to-morrow  at  day- 
break, in  the  Duke  of  Brunswick's  camp." 

Here  Lowendaal  gave  Leonard  a  town  passport. 

"I  shall  obey,"  said  Leonard. 

"  Be  careful  not  to  do  your  business  so  ill  as  to  be 
captured  by  Beaurepaire's  enraged  volunteers.  If  you 
should  be  arrested,  I  could  no  longer  hide  your  history. 
Then,  there  would  be  the  gallows.  Or,  perhaps,  im- 
mediate death  as  a  spy." 

Leonard  shivered.  "  I  shall  be  careful,  monsieur," 
he  said. 

"  Very  well ;  you  understand  !  Go  !  and  in  the  em- 
igrant's camp  I  shall  await  your  news." 

"  I  shall  do  my  best,  sir.  It  is  all  one  to  me  ;  yet  you 
ask  me  to  do  a  very  onerous  thing,  and  I  fear  the 
chaise  will  wait  in  vain  at  Porte-Neuve." 


i82  ittadame  £nn$-(&tnt. 

"  Imbecile  !  In  a  town  besieged  on  all  sides,  where 
everything  is.  in  flames,  surveillance  is  impossible. 
Remember,  I  count  on  you,  Master  Leonard.  If  you 
play  me  false,  or  if  you  grow  weak,  you  may  rest  as- 
sured that,  as  soon  as  I  re-enter  Verdun,  my  first  call 
will  be  the  court,  and  my  second  to  find  the  functionary 
charged  with  taking  care  of  the  galley-slaves,  and  see- 
ing to  the  departure  of  the  next  crew  for  Toulon. 
Adieu,  Master  Leonard,  until  to-morrow,  at  dawn." 

And  Lowendaal  went  quickly  toward  the  Porte- 
Neuve,  while  Leonard,  perplexed,  meditating  on  the 
fulfilment  of  his  mission,  said  to  himself: 

"  How  shall  I  penetrate,  without  arousing  suspicion, 
into  the  house  of  Madame  de  Ble"court  ?  How  reach 
•General  Beaurepaire  in  the  dead  of  night,  alone  and 
unarmed  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   EMIGRANT  CAMP. 

Lowendaal,  on  leaving  Leonard,  murmured,  with  a 
self-satisfied  air  :  "  That  fool  will  do  just  as  I  told  him  ; 
he  is  a  little  afraid  ;  but  his  fear  of  the  galleys  will  be 
greater  than  his  terror  of  Beaurepaire's  sword.  To 
place  a  man  between  two  such  startling  alternatives — 
to  be  sent  to  the  galleys,  or  to  risk  being  sent  there  if 
•captured — any  sensible  man — and  Leonard  is  no 
dolt — would  choose  the  risk.     First  he  will  go  and  try 


Padsme  gm$-(&tnt.  183 

to  escape  ;  then  he  will  go  a  little  unwillingly  and  un- 
certainly— but  go  he  will  finally.  Do  not  soldiers  act 
so,  too  ?  When  they  are  sent  to  the  cannon's  mouth, 
it  is  not  always  love  of  glory  that  urges  them,  but  the 
fear  also  of  being  shot  if  they  prove  cowardly.  To  be 
good  soldiers  they  must  keep  with  the  body  of  troops. 
The  punishment,  falling  upon  many  heads,  attaints  no 
one  specially.  Leonard  is  alone — he  dare  not  turn  back 
— and  like  the  good  Talthybius,  the  herald  in  the  palace 
ot  Atrides,  I  shall  hope  soon  to  see,  from  the  emigrants' 
camp,  the  expected  signal."  The  baron  smiled  com- 
placently, having  no  scruples  on  the  subject,  and  loving 
to  show  his  literary  knowledge  and  his  erudition  in  the 
matter  of  great  authors. 

He  strolled  on  through  the  night,  through  the  de- 
serted quarters  of  the  town,  hearing  the  distant  shots, 
and  following  with  careless  eyes  the  luminous  track  of 
the  shells,  which,  like  swift  meteors,  crossed  the  black 
background  of  the  sky. 

There  was  no  fighting  around  him. 

Some  few  functionaries,  awake  upon  the  ramparts, 
gave  their  call  :  «'  Sentinels,  keep  your  watch,"  at  in- 
tervals, in  the  silence,  which,  otherwise  remained  un- 
broken about  the  Porte-Neuve,  whither  the  baron  went. 

He  found,  several  of  the  National  Guards  on  duty 
there,  to  whom,  after  his  departure  from  the  court- 
house, the  attorney-general  had  sent  an  order  to  pass 
the  Baron  de  Lowendaal.  The  head  of  the  post  readily 
unbarred  the  door  to  let  the  baron  out,  and  wished  him 
a  safe  return. 


184  Padam*  gnn$-<Btnt. 

Going  eastward  across  the  deserted  field,  the  baron 
reached  a  woodland  whose  slim  trees  rose  on  its  edge, 
and  proceeded  directly  toward  a  fire  which  burned  at 
some  distance  across  the  plain — a  bivouac  of  the  out- 
post, doubtless. 

A  cry  of,  "  Who  goes  ?  "  uttered  in  French  made  him 
stop. 

"  I  was  not  mistaken,"  thought  he  :  "  these  are 
Frenchmen." 

He  stood  still,  calling  out  :  "A  friend  :  sent  by  the 
municipality  of  Verdun." 

A  silence  followed  ;  then  he  saw  a  dark  object  rise, 
accompanied  by  a  click  of  arms. 

A  light  came  toward  him. 

Four  men,  with  the  lantern-bearer,  came  to  look  at 
him. 

After  having  declined  to  do  business  with  the  cap- 
tain of  the  division,  and  having  asked  to  be  taken  to  the 
general-in-chief,  the  baron  was  politely  invited  to  a 
place  beside  the  fire,  while  he  awaited  the  general's 
orders. 

The  invitation  he  accepted  gladly,  for  it  was  a  chilly 
night.  He  sat  down  among  the  royalist  volunteers 
before  the  burning  logs. 

His  arrival  had  been  whispered  through  the  camp, 
and  many  sleepers  awoke  to  hear  the  news,  and  to 
learn  what  was  going  on  at  Verdun. 

This  camp  of  emigrants  was  strange  and  varied. 
The  army  of  Conde*  was  composed  of  volunteers  from 
all   parts  of  France,   but  principally    from  the  west ; 


$Radam*  £att0-<S*n*.  185 

they  came  to  fight  against  the  national  army,  to  de- 
fend the  white  flag,  and  to  reoinstate  the  king  and 
crush  the  Revolution.  Many  had  come  somewhat  un- 
willingly. 

Some  were  urged  to  it  by  their  families,  or  fired  by 
others'  example,  or  unable  to  remain  upon  their  ruined 
and  plundered  estates. 

Some  came  from  pure  fanaticism,  and  many  in  the 
hope  of  re-entering  France  with  both  triumph  and  profit. 

This  army  of  rebels  and  traitors  was  collected  from 
various  provinces.  The  gentlemen  among  them  con- 
served their  privileges,  and  concealed  their  infatuation. 
They  did  not  mingle  with  the  rest.  Bretagne  had  sent 
seven  companies  of  nobles — an  eighth  was  in  reserve. 
The  costumes,  too,  partook  of  the  class  distinctions. 
The  non-nobles  wore  an  iron-gray  garb  ;  the  gentlemen 
had  uniforms  of  royal  blue,  with  cocked  hats.  Thus 
these  insurgents,  against  the  will  of  the  nation,  as- 
sembled for  the  same  cause  and  running  the  same  risks, 
attempted  to  keep  alive,  in  their  midst,  the  adherence 
to  hierarchies  and  the  social  distinctions  which  were 
already  a  thing  ot  the  past.  The  townsmen,  with  their 
sombre  coats  of  gray  were  far  more  self-denying  and 
devoted  than  the  nobles,  for  they  fought  for  privileges 
in  which  they  could  never  share. 

Some  deserters,  still  wearing  the  uniforms  of  their 
division — they  were  mostly  marine  officers — formed  the 
only  really  military  element  of  the  organization. 

The  marine  corps,  brave,  but  superstitious,  yet  much 
attached  to   royalty,  had   been   mustered  chiefly  from 


186  gjftadame  g»w-(&tnt. 

the  sons  of  families  on  the  Breton  coast,  and  all  hostile 
to  the  Revolution.  The  desertion  of  these  marines  en- 
feebled the  naval  strength  of  the  nation  for  a  long 
time,  and  despite  the  courage  of  the  sailors,  gave  Eng- 
land victories  over  French  ships  and  strengthened  her 
supremacy  on  the  high  seas.  The  treason  of  these 
royalist  marine  officers  is  too  often  overlooked,  when 
one  counts  the  rigorous  measures  taken  by  the  Con- 
vention in  the  west. 

The  heroic  resistance  of  fanaticism  was  less  detri- 
mental to  the  country  than  the  flight  of  these  experienced 
marines — comrades  of  La  PeYouse  and  D'Estaing,  the 
glorious  adversaries  of  the  English  in  the  American 
Revolution  who  quitted  the  bridges  of  their  ships  to 
run  behind  Prussian  generals,  and  allow  themselves  to 
be  shot  by  the  National  Guards. 

These  royal  volunteers  were  poorly  clad,  poorly 
armed,  and  poorly  provisioned  besides.  Their  guns,  of 
German  manufacture,  were  clumsy  and  heavy. 

Many  of  the  nobles  had  only  hunting  arms. 

The  combination  of  this  strange  army  made  it  seem 
like  a  troop  of  insurgent  Bohemians.  Even  the  ages 
were  mixed.  Old  squires,  bent  and  broken  with  years, 
advanced  side  by  side  with  young  fellows.  Entire 
families,  from  grandsire  to  grandson,  were  together  in 
the  ranks.  It  was  touching  and  at  the  same  time 
grotesque. 

The  army  of  the  princes  had  been  deprived  of  artil- 
lery, and  despite  the  individual  courage  displayed  by 
most  of  these  improvised  soldiers,  their  attachment  to 


padame  gzn$-<&tm.  187 

the  royal  cause  was  little  assistance.  The  Prussians 
and  Austrians  were  not  wrong  in  considering  most  of 
these  gentlemen  only  an  incumbrance. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  listened,  with  his  satirical 
smile,  to  the  confidences,  boasts,  and  recriminations  of 
the  volunteers. 

They  overwhelmed  him  with  questions  as  to  the  con- 
dition of  Paris,  when  he  had  left  it,  and  as  to  the  favor- 
able possibilities  for  the  king's  return. 

The  baron  answered  evasively,  saying  that,  in  his 
opinion,  all  would  arrange  itself,  although  one  must 
naturally  calculate  upon  the  over-excitement  of  crowds, 
and  the  ardcr  with  which  men  had  hastened  to  enlist 
as  soon  as  the  country  was  considered  in  danger. 

The  young  gentlemen  heard,  with  haughty  sneers,  the 
careful  answers  of  the  baron  who,  on  his  side,  learning 
the  hour  at  which  the  general  would  be  ready  to  receive 
him,  seemed  anxious  to  get  his  mission  fulfilled. 

While  telling  his  irritable  auditors  all  he  knew  about 
the  preparations  of  the  entire  nation,  and  their  readi- 
ness to  die,' if  need  be,  the  baron  kept  one  eye  open 
beyond  the  camp-fire,  tow:  '1  the  ramparts  of  Verdun, 
on  the  Porte-Saint-Victor's  side. 

He  seemed  to  wait  from  minute  to  minute  for  a  sig- 
nal which,  however,  did  not  come. 

At  times  he  drew  out  his  watch,  consulted  it  anxiously, 
hearing  but  indifferently  the  talk  ar  und  him  ;  then  he 
glanced  at  u.e  sky,  ever  dark  abov^  the  town. 

"  What  is  that  dolt,  Leonard,  doing  ?  "  he  thought, 
•«  Can  he  have  betrayed  me  ?     Can  his  courage  have 


1 88  Padame  £att0-®*»e. 

failed  at  the  last  moment  ?  Oh,  I  shall  take  fearful 
vengeance  on  him.  If  he  has  deceived  me,  I  shall 
surely  see  him  sent  to  the  galleys." 

And  the  baron,  not  caring  to  listen  longer  to  the  talk 
of  the  volunteers,  feigned  to  fall  asleep,  closed  his  eyes, 
and  lay,  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  beside  the  embers  of 
the  fire,  where  some  one  came  to  tell  him  that  General 
Clerfayt  awaited  him  in  his  tent. 

The  baron  rose  and  followed  his  guide  ;  not,  how- 
ever, without  casting  uneasy  glances  at  the  houses  of 
Verdun,  which  showed,  from  the  high  grounds,  above 
the  ramparts.  Plunged  in  shadow  as  wrYl  as  in 
slumber,  these  houses  seemed  indifferent  to  the  cannon- 
ade which  continued  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  town  ; 
it  had  grown  less  and  less ;  the  Prussians  answered 
but  moderately  to  the  shots  of  the  besieged.  Providing 
for  a  siege  which  might,  nay,  which  must,  be  long,  they 
husbanded  their  ammunition  well. 

In  the  general's  tent,  the  baron  found  the  aide-de- 
camp who  had  been  at  the  court-house. 

He  scowled,  though  he  saluted,  with  '  scrupulous 
politeness,  the  Count  de  Neipperg. 

The  latter  returned  his  salutation  icily. 

The  interview  was  short. 

The  Austrian  general  asked  what  was  the  attitude 
of  the  town  of  Verdun. 

And  when  the  baron  assured  him  that  it  was  excel- 
lent, and  favorable  to  surrender,  the  general  answered 
by  a  silent  movement,  lifting  the  canvas  of  his  tent  and 
showing  the  flaming  shells  flying  over  the  ramparts. 


Padame  #att.$-C3ett*.  189 

The  baron  mechanically  followed,  with  his  eyes,  the 
general's  motion. 

Although  he  was  master  of  himself  on  all  occasions, 
he  could  not  repress  a  quick  exclamation  of  triumph 
and  content. 

He  saw,  in  the  northern  quarter  of  the  town,  a  flam- 
ing color.  Jets  of  flame  shot  through  volumes  of  smoke 
in  that  part  of  Verdun,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
spared  until  then  by  the  besiegers. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  the  general,  surprised  at 
this  extraordinary  emotion  on  the  part  of  the  city's 
messenger. 

"  Nothing,  General — nothing  at  all — weariness  and 
care — and  the  joy  I  feel  in  knowing  that  to-morrow  the 
horrors  of  the  siege  will  be  over  for  that  fair  city.  That 
is  the  explanation  of  my  cry  at  seeing  the  shells  and 
flaming  shot  flying  through  space,"  said  he,  forcing 
himself  to  be  calm  outwardly. 

"  Then  you  believe,"  said  Clerfayt,  "  that  the  city 
will  open  her  gates  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,  sir.  A  man  is  to  come  to  me  this  very 
morning  with  the  deed  of  capitulation  signed." 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  it  yourself?  Why  did  you 
not  send  it  with  my  aide-de-camp,  the  Count  de  Neip- 
perg  here,  who  went,  charged  by  myself  and  by  the 
Duke  of  Brunswick  to  bring  your  answer?  " 

"  I  was  not  certain,  General,  that  the  town  would  be 
in  a  state  to  surrender  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Ah  !  what  was  the  obstacle  ?  " 

"  A  wretch — a  brigand-chief,  General  Beaurepaire — ■ 


190  padatn*  £atti9i-$*tt*. 

entered  last  night  by  surprise  into  the  town  and  wanted 
to  overthrow  our  plans,  ruin  all  our  hopes." 

"  This  general  is  a  brave  soldier,  and  an  able  adver- 
sary," said  Neipperg  to  Clerfayt. 

•«  You  have  seen  him  ?  "  said  Clerfayt,  interested. 

"  Yes,  and  heard  him  speak.  You  should  see  him — . 
it  is  he  who  has  put  Verdun  so  rapidly  in  a  state  of  de- 
fence. While  he  is  about,  I  am  not  of  monsieur's  opin- 
ion,— Verdun  will  not  surrender." 

And  Neipperg  cast  a  look  of  scorn  *at  the  baron. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  ?  "  said  Clerfayt.  "  You 
promise  me  the  opening  of  the  gates  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. My  aide-de-camp,  who  has  seen  the  place  and 
knows  the  energy  of  its  defender,  says  it  will  not  yield 
so  readily.     Answer  me  !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  the  baron  in  his  honeyed 
tones,  "  I  do  not  contradict  the  aide-de-camp.  I  made 
you  aware  of  that  obstacle.  I  told  you  what  caused  my 
hesitation,  my  fears.  I  was  not  sure,  as  I  told  you,  that 
Verdun  would  surrender." 

And  now  you  believe  surrender  possible  ? " 

"  Certain,  sir." 
But — Beaurepaire  ?  " 
Beaurepaire,  sir,  is  dead  !  " 
Dead  !     How  do  you  know  ?     Who  told  you  ?  " 

The  baron  bowed,  and  with  a  broader  smile  than 
usual  said,  "  Sir,  permit  me  to  get  the  official  confirma- 
tion of  that  news  whose  first  messenger  I  am.  The 
man  who  shall  bring  me  the  signed  deed  of  surrender 
will  tell  you  the  end  of  General  Beaurepaire." 


$t»dam*  $att£-(*5aw.  191 

"Very  well,  sir,  we  shall  wait,"  said  Clerfayt  coldly, 
signing  to  the  baron  that  the  interview  was  over. 

When  Lowendaal  left,  the  Count  de  Neipperg  said  to 
the  Austrian  general,  "  How  does  that  spying  fellow, 
squinting  from  under  his  light  and  smiling  mask,  know 
that  Beaurepaire  is  no  more  ?  He  was  living  not  two 
hours  since  when  I  left  Verdun  !  Can  they  have  mur- 
dered him  ?  " 

Clerfayt  regarded  his  aide  with  some  surprise.  He 
said,  "  My  dear  Neipperg,  we  soldiers  make  war  loy- 
ally and  by  daylight  ;  but  these  merchants  who  hold 
out  their  hands  to  us,  and  open  the  gates  of  their  town, 
are  capable  of  any  cowardice.  There  are  ill  things 
left  over  in  the  kitchen  of  victory.  They  who  partake 
of  the  feast  must  not  trouble  to  think  how  it  is  pre- 
pared. Otherwise  none  would  care  for — none  would 
kill  for  glory.  Let  us  get  our  message  ready,  dear  lad, 
for  by  morning,  if  this  baron  speak  the  truth,  w»  will 
have  enough  to  do  ;  a  town  to  occupy,  posts  to  guard, 
authorities  to  change  and  to  look  after,  without  count- 
ing the  triumphal  entry  of  their  majesties  amid  the 
felicitation  and  homage  of  the  people.  At  least  we 
will  see  if  this  Lowendaal  spoke  truth.  We  will  send 
messengers  to  this  Beaurepaire,  who  seems  to  be  a 
hard  adversary." 

And  while  Neipperg  sat  down  at  the  little  table  to 
write  at  the  general's  dictation,  the  latter,  lifting  the 
opening  of  his  tent,  called  to  one  of  the  artillery  officers 
beside  a  battery :  "  Commander,  continue  your  fire 
upon  the  ramparts  of  Verdun  until  you  see  raised  the 
flag  of  truce." 


192  gflaflame  £att0-(3*ttf. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

CATHARINE   ALARMED. 

Leonard,  as  we  have  seen,  left  his  master,  and,  per- 
plexed and  discomforted  by  the  remembrance  of  a  dis- 
agreeable past,  made  his  way  to  the  Porte  de  France. 

On  that  side  the  cannon  roared  constantly,  and 
Leonard  did  not  love  its  music  over-well.  But  he  had 
received  exact  orders  and  he  felt  he  must  execute  them. 

Where  they  were  fighting,  he  hoped  to  find  the  man 
he  sought  and  concerning  whom  he  had  received  orders 
— this  was  General  Beaurepaire. 

Before  gaining  the  side  of  the  gate,  where,  on  the 
slope,  stood  several  officers,  and  doubtless,  too,  he 
whom  the  mission  concerned,  Leonard  sauntered 
toward  a  wagon  about  which  were  groups  of  men,  and 
before  which  was  a  table  with  bottles,  glasses,  pieces 
of  bread  and  sausages. 

It  was  the  canteen  of  the  13th   Light  Infantry. 

Behind  the  table,  which  was  lighted  by  two  smoking 
torches  stood  Catharine  Lefebvre,  alert,  jolly,  and  ready 
to  serve  drink  and  refreshment,  answering  to  the  re- 
peated demands  of  the  cannoneers  and  the  soldiers 
who  came  between  shots  to  drink  to  the  deliverance  of 
Verdun. 

From  time  to  time  Catharine  stopped  pouring  wine, 
or  cutting  slices  of  sausage,  to  glance  into  her  wagon. 


$tadam*  gnn$-(Stnt.  193 

There,  on  a  tiny  bed,  little  Henriot  slept  the  dream- 
less sleep  of  childhood. 

"Ah,  the  cannon  lulls  him  like  a  cradle-song,"  said 
she,  and  Catharine  returned  to  her  distribution  not 
without  a  few  words  of  energetic  defiance  of  the  Prus- 
sians. 

From  the  outset  of  the  siege,  Beaurepaire  had  moved 
actively  about,  seeming  to  be  everywhere  at  once  ;  he 
had  gone  to  the  batteries,  encouraged  the  gunners,  see- 
ing to  the  placing  of  gabions,  and  guarding  the  turrets 
of  the  Porte  de  France ;  while  Catharine,  leaving  her 
canteen,  had  also  climbed  the  slopes. 

There,  like  a  fury  of  war,  she  had  shamed  the  lag- 
gards, encouraged  the  brave,  helped  the  first  wounded 
men,  and  even,  at  times,  seized  a  gun  and  discharged 
it  upon  the  Austrian  cavaliers  who  had  advanced  under 
the  embrasures  of  the  gates  ;  she  had  contributed  ener- 
getically to  keeping  off  a  panic  and  holding  back  the 
enemy,  who  were  surprised  at  so  sturdy  an  extemporized 
defence.     Beaurepaire  noticed  and  praised  her. 

The  attack  over,  the  enemy  retired,  having  given  up 
the  idea  of  taking  a  town  so  well  guarded  ;  and  Cath- 
arine returned  to  her  canteen  and  her  neglected  cus* 
tomers. 

She  had,  in  a  lull  after  the  first  combat,  seen 
Lefebvre,  who,  with  his  sharp-shooters,  guarded  the 
parapets,  and,  from  the  walls,  poured  a  deadly  fire  on 
the  Austrian  infantry. 

Reassured  and  happy — for  this  was  her  baptism  of 
fire — she  had  returned  to  her  canteen,  where  she 
13 


194  padame  JSattf-Gfoiw. 

worked  with  good-humor  and  much  acceptance  by  the 
troop. 

While  she  was  serving  two  artillerymen,  she  noticed, 
a.  little  at  one  side,  a  civilian  who  watched  them  drink- 
ing. 

"Eh!  my  friend,"  she  said  unceremoniously,  "why 
don't  you  come  and  take  a  good  cup  of  '  schuick,'  as 
we  say  ?  You  are  a  civilian,  but,  never  mind  ;  to-mor- 
row you'll  be  like  the  rest — in  arms.  Come  !  you  may 
drink  with  the  defenders  of  your  country.  We're  all 
brothers !  " 

And  as  the  man  did  not  answer,  and  was  about  to 
move  away  she  called  : 

"  Eh,  friend,  do  not  go  off  that  way  !  Have  you  no 
money  ?  Never  mind,  I  shall  regale  you  to-day,  to- 
morrow you  can  pay  me.     What  will  you  have  ?  " 

The  man  answered  dryly,  "  I  do  not  drink." 

"  You  are  not  thirsty,  and  you  do  not  fight  ?  Then, 
what  do  you  want  here  ?  " 

The  man  hesitated,  then  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  General  Beaurepaire." 

Catharine  looked  surprised. 
You  ?  speak  to  the  general  ?     What  do  you  want 
with  him  ?" 

"  I  have  important  news  to  tell  him." 

Catharine  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  You  choose  ft 
fine  time,  my  lad." 

"  I  choose  the  moment  I  can  get." 

"  Possibly,  but  just  now  you  can't  see  him." 

The  man  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "  But  I  must  see 
him." 


Padam*  gmt-(&tM.  195 

Catharine  distrusted  her  interlocutor.  His  insistence 
was  suspicious.     She  determined  to  tell  her  husband. 

She  signalled  to  one  of  the  soldiers  and  told  him  to 
find  Lefebvre,  and  ask  him  when  Beaurepaire  could  be 
seen. 

Excited  by  the  noise  of  battle,  his  tongue  loosened 
by  copious  draughts  taken  with  a  man  in  town,  the 
soldier  grew  garrulous.  He  told,  despite  Catharine's 
warning  glances,  that  Beaurepaire  had  gone  to  sleep 
for  a  little  at  a  relative's  house  in  town  ;  and  at  four 
o'clock  would  be  up  again,  and  had  ordered  his  horse 
for  that  hour. 

Catharine,  losing  patience,  said,  "You  chatter  like  a 
magpie — go  somewhere  and  sleep — it  will  do  you  good. 
You'll  never  be  ready  to  meet  the  general  at  four 
o'clock,  as  he  told  you  to  do.  Go,  or  I'll  call  Lieutenant 
Lefebvre  ;  he  doesn't  play  with  babblers  and  drunk- 
ards." 

"  Very  well ;  I'll  keep  still  and  go,"  growled  the 
soldier,  and  went  away. 

Catharine  turned  once  more  to  serve  her  soldiers. 

Mechanically  she  looked  for  the  man  who  had  in- 
sisted on  speaking  to  the  general. 

He  was  gone. 

Catharine  thought  she  saw  him  going  off  in  company 
with  the  orderly,  toward  a  tavern  whose  doors  stood 
open  to  the  men  who  wanted  to  help,  to  defend  and  to 
shelter  the  town. 

She  had  a  moment's  suspicion  that  this  man  was  a 
conspirator  and  that  some  danger  threatened  Beaure- 
paire. 


196  gjftadame  £m$-<&tnt. 

She  wanted  to  follow  him  and  to  point  him  out  to 
Lefebvre,  but  could  not  think  of  leaving  her  canteen 
just  then. 

The  defenders  of  Verdun,  passing  the  night  in  erects 
ing  defences,  raising  palisades,  and  setting  cannon  in 
position  amid  a  continuous  fire,  must  find  her  ready 
to  wait  upon  them. 

She  shuddered  uneasily,  though  trying  to  persuade 
herself  that  she  was  unnecessarily  alarmed  and  that 
no  harm  could  come  to  Beaurepaire  from  this  man. 
But  Lowendaal,  came,  ever  and  again,  into  her  mind. 

The  baron  looked  like  a  traitor.  Could  he  have 
planned  aught  against  the  valiant  defender  of  Verdun  ? 

At  last,  Catharine  could  endure  her  anxiety  no  longer  ; 
and  when,  as  the  night  advanced,  the  customers  became 
few,  she  said  briefly  that  she  must  get  a  little  sleep,  and 
sent  away  the  last  few  soldiers,  saying  that,  if  they 
did  not  feel  the  need  of  rest,  they  could  find  amuse- 
ment on  the  ramparts,  where  there  were  a  few  men 
trying  to  place  gabions  and  set  guns. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A   HERO'S   END. 

After  arranging  her  canteen,  and  giving  a  quick 
kiss  to  Henriot,  who  slept  peacefully,  Catharine  went 
out  into  the  dark  streets. 

Her  fears  were  aroused.     It  must  be  in  the  house  of 


Padame  gm$-(5tnt.  197 

Madame  de  Ble"court,  whither  he  had  ordered  her  to 
take  the  little  girl  from  Jouy-en-Argonne,  that  danger 
threatened  Beaurepaire.  She  divined  sorrow,  she 
scented  treason. 

As  she  approached  Madame  Blgcourt's  house,  she 
heard  a  shot. 

It  was  not  a  surprising  noise  in  a  besieged  city. 

But  that  shot,  in  that  isolated  quarter,  far  from  the 
ramparts,  and  seemingly  asleep,  was  frightful. 

She  was  sure  of  misfortune,  crime. 

At  the  turn  of  the  lane  she  saw  the  shadow  of  a  flee- 
ing man. 

She  seemed  to  recognize  that  strange  person  whose 
looks  at  the  canteen  had  aroused  her  suspicions. 

She  called  to  him — "  Say  !  Man  !  Don't  go  so- 
fast  !     Who  fired  that  shot  ?  " 

But  the  fugitive  redoubled  his  haste,  and  answered 
not  ;  turning,  he  disappeared  down  a  dark  street. 

Catharine  hesitated  an  instant.  Should  she  follow 
him  ?  But  she  reflected  that  a  man  hurrying  by 
night  through  a  besieged  city  was  not  necessarily  a 
culprit,  and,  besides,  what  connection  could  there  be 
between  this  unknown  man  and  Beaurepaire  ?  It  was 
not  there  that  the  danger  lay,  if  Beaurepaire  was 
threatened. 

She  must  go  to  the  Blgcourt  house,  and  assure  her- 
self that  the  general  was  asleep  and  safe. 

Catharine  started  again,  and  walked  rapidly  toward 
the  house,  where  Herminie  de  Beaurepaire  must  be 
sleeping,  with  little  Alice  by  her  side,  and  where,  doubt- 


198  gftadame  £attjS-<*fcttc. 

less,  Beaurepaire,  worn  with  fatigue,  had  thrown  him- 
self upon  a  bed,  until  he  should  be  called  to  return  to 
the  strife. 

As  she  reached  the  door  and  knocked,  cries  and 
calls  arose  from  within. 

Frightened  people  put  out  their  heads,  calling  for 
help. 

In  night-cap  and  gown,  the  old  dowager  of  Bldcourt 
appeared  upon  the  balcony,  waving  her  arms  wildly, 
despairingly. 

At  the  same  time  a  red  light  sent  it's  sinister  glow 
over  the  opposite  house. 

Clouds  of  black  smoke  poured  from  the  open  windows. 

Great  tongues  of  flames  licked  upward  toward  the 
roof. 

"  Fire  !  Fire  ! "  cried  Catharine,  "  and  the  door 
will  not  give  way." 

Servants,  losing  their  heads,  ran  screaming  down- 
stairs, calling  for  keys.  Finally,  they  opened  the  door 
and  rushed  into  the  street. 

Some  neighbors,  awakened  by  the  noise,  came  up. 
But  the  courageous  Catharine  was  already  in  the 
burning  house. 

The  danger  did  not  frighten  her,  and  she  told  her- 
self that  there  were  lives  to  be  saved. 

She  mounted  the  stairs  through  the  smoke,  guiding 
herself  by  the  glare  of  the  flames. 

One  room,  on  the  first  story,  had  its  door  open — she 
cried  aloud  ! 

"  Is  any  one  asleep  here  ?     save  yourself,  quickly  ! " 


Padamc  £m$-(&tnt.  199 

The  smoke  kept  her  out. 

No  answer  came  ! 

A  glare  of  flame  suddenly  flashed  through  the  gloom 
and  lighted  the  chamber. 

Catharine  uttered  a  cry  of  terror,  There  upon  the 
bed  lay  Beaurepaire  asleep,  lifeless,  deaf  to  the  mighty 
tumult. 

She  rushed  to  him. 

"  General — quick— awake  !  Get  up — the  house  is  on 
fire  !  "  she  cried. 

He  did  not  move. 

The  room  was  dark  once  more. 

The  smoke  rolled  in,  thick,  suffocating. 

Catharine  bent  over,  putting  out  her  hands. 

She  tried  in  that  smoky  darkness  to  find  the  bed. 

She  wanted  to  help  the  general,  thinking — "Can  he 
have  fainted  ?  " 

She  touched  the  lifeless  body ;  she  listened.  No 
sound  of  breathing  came  from  the  bed. 

"What  a  strangely  deep  sleep,"  she  thought — and 
terror  filled  her  strong,  manly  heart. 

Nevertheless,  she  approached  ;  and  laid  her  ear 
upon  the  general's  breast. 

"  His  heart  has  ceased  to  beat,"  she  murmured,  with 
a  tone  of  intense  agony. 

A  terrible  silence  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  forehead  and  felt  some- 
thing thick,  and  sticky,  on  her  fingers. 

Frightened,  she  recoiled. 

She  felt  stunned,  weak,  sick — she  almost  fell. 


200  gftaflsttu  £att$i-<Sm. 

He  was  dead — dead. 

She  roused  herself. 

"  Ah,  the  window,"  she  thought,  astonished  that  she 
had  not  sooner  thought  of  opening  it. 

She  went  quickly,  and  let  in  the  air. 

It  was  high  time.  A  moment  more,  and  she  would 
have  fallen,  choked  by  the  smoke. 

The  roar  of  the  flames  continued,  and  lit  up  once 
more  the  bed  where  Beaurepaire  lay. 

The  general  seemed  asleep,  rigid,  insensible.  His 
face  was  livid,  his  pillow  red. 

A  gap  in  his  temple,  whence  flowed  a  stream  of 
olood,  revealed  how  deep  was  the  slumber  that  held 
the  heroic  dead. 

"  Ah,  the  wretches,  they  have  murdered  him  !  "  cried 
Catharine,  rushing  from  the  room.  She  shouted  an 
alarm  which  no  one  heard  in  the  general  confusion, 
and  which  was  lost  amid  the  horrors  of  the  flames. 

As  she  sought  the  stairs  where  lay  the  debris  o< 
stone,  plaster,  and  wood-work,  half-burned  and  send- 
ing up  sparks  and  black  smoke,  she  heard  a  soft 
voice  singing  in  a  plaintive  tone, 

Sleep,  sleep, 

Baby  sleep, 

Baby's  sleep  is  long  and  deep. 

Stunned,  Catharine  tried  to  find  out  whence  this 
unexpected  song  came.  What  deaf  old  nurse  could 
rock  her  charge  with  this  soft  lullaby  amid  the  horrors 
of  that  night  1 


ittadame  gm$-(&tttt.  201 

The  voice  came  from  the  story  above.  Braving  the; 
flames  which  might  at  any  moment  attack  the  stairs- 
behind  her,  and  cut  off  her  retreat,  Catharine  went  up. 
through  the  smoke. 

She  opened  the  door  whence  came  the  soft  voice,, 
singing,  ever  in  the  same  tone,  that  simple  cradle-song. 

She  saw,  insensible,  with  vacant  stare,  and  bent 
head,  Herminie  de  Beaurepaire,  sitting  on  the  side  of 
a  bed,  and  holding  in  her  lap  little  Alice,  who  was  fast 
asleep. 

"Come  quickly,  madame,"  cried  Catharine.  "  The- 
house  is  afire  !  " 

But  Herminie  continued  to  sing  and  rock  little  Alice. 

At  Catharine's  cry,  the  child  awoke. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose.  Come  !  Quick  !  "  cried! 
Catherine,  imperatively,  and  she  took  the  trembling: 
child  by  the  hand. 

Herminie,  bowed  gravely,  and  said,  "  Good-day, 
madame !  Do  you  not  know  ?  I  am  to  be  married  !' 
You  are  come  to  my  wedding,  are  you  not  ?  Shall  I 
not  look  well  ?  " 

"  She  is  mad  !  Poor  girl,"  thought  Catharine,  pity- 
ingly ;  "  but  I  must  not  think  of  that  now  !  Come,  you 
must  follow  me  !  "  she  said,  giving  a  harsh  tone  to  her 
voice  purposely. 

The  mad-woman  rose,  her  eyes  fixed,  her  arms  hang- 
ing by  her  sides,  and  moved  automatically. 

Catharine,  taking  little  Alice,  hurried  to  descends 
She  turned  to  see  if  Herminie  were  coming.  The  latter 
continued  to  walk  stiffly. 


202  £$adamc  gm$-(&tnt. 

As  she  passed  the  room  where  Beaurepaire  lay,  Her- 
minie  threw  up  her  hands,  gave  a  scream,  and  cried  : 

"  He  is  there  !  there  !  The  man  !  with  a  pistol  at 
his  temple  !     He  will  kill  me,  too  ! " 

And  she  sank  senseless  across  the  doorway. 

Catharine  could  not  carry  her.  She  must  attend  to 
the  child. 

She  hurried  on  with  little  Alice  and  rushed  into  the 
street. 

She  had  saved  the  child. 

The  soldiers,  who  had  run  up  at  sight  of  the  fire, 
which  they  attributed  to  a  Prussian  shell,  began  to 
organize  a  chain. 

She  gave  them  the  child,  and  recognizing  some  men 
of  Lefebvre's  company,  she  begged  them  to  go  into  the 
house  and  try  to  bring  out  Herminie,  who  was  still 
alive,  and  the  body  of  the  general. 

Three  or  four  men  went  at  once. 

In  a  few  moments  they  returned  with  the  body  of 
Beaurepaire,  and  two  soldiers  held  the  mad-woman, 
who  cried  : 

"  Let  me  go  !  I  must  go  and  dress  !  You  do  not 
.know  !  I  am  to  be  married  !  Everybody  is  there  ! 
And  the  candles  are  lighted.'  Oh,  the  church  looks  so 
fine  on  a  wedding-day  !  " 

It  was  sad  to  see  her  thus  pointing  to  the  terrible 
flames  that  licked  the  remaining  walls. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Madame  de  Bl6court  had  broken  a  leg  in  jumping 
from  the  balcony  to  the  street.     She  died  in  a  few  days. 


Padam*  jSattf-Gkn*.  203 

Herminie,  whose  senses  had  not  returned,  was  taken 
to  a  relative,  who  offered  to  take  care  of  her. 

Beaurepaire's  body  was  borne  to  the  court-house. 

There  the  president  and  the  attorney  declared  that 
he  had  committed  suicide  to  escape  surrender. 

It  was  said,  they  averred,  that  Beaurepaire  had  loudly 
proclaimed  that  to  be  his  intention  the  evening  when 
the  conditions  of  surrender  had  been  discussed. 

Many  witnesses  would  affirm  it ;  and  the  news  of  the 
general's  heroic  death — dying  rather  than  assist  alive 
at  the  surrender  of  a  town  he  had  sworn  to  defend — 
was  propagated  by  the  traitors  who  had  caused  his 
tragic  end,  and  was  accepted  by  the  patriots. 

He  was  accorded  great  funeral  honors,  this  noble 
Beaurepaire  ;  the  Convention  having  also  accepted  the 
explanation  of  an  exemplary  and  glorious  suicide. 

The  cowards  who  had  aimed  at  the  murder  of  Beaure- 
paire, done  by  Leonard,  opened  next  day  the  city  gates 
to  the  Austrian  and  Prussian  armies,  in  virtue  of  the 
treaty  of  capitulation  which  Lowendaal  had  taken  to 
Brunswick's  general. 

The  King  of  Prussia  made  a  triumphal  entry  int» 
Verdun. 

All  the  rich  gentry  hailed  him.  President  Ternaux 
gave  a  banquet  at  the  court-house,  and  the  attorney,  at 
dessert,  compared  him  to  Alexander  the  Great,  taking 
possession  of  Babylon. 

The  daughters  of  royalist  houses,  who  were  later  ex- 
ecuted, and  whom  poetry  has  glorified  as  martyrs,  in- 
sulted the  devoted  defenders  of  Verdun. 


204  Pattern*  £an;S-6ctt*. 

Robed  in  white  with  wreaths  on  their  heads,  they 
carried  the  crown  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  victor  oi  the 
town,  by  treason's  aid. 

Verdun,  like  Longevy,  deserved  to  be  known  forever 
as  a  city  of  cowards. 

The  frontier  was  unguarded,  the  way  to  Paris  open, 
and  the  Austrian  and  Prussian  armies  had  only  to 
march  on  to  the  capital  and  inflict  on  it  the  punish- 
ment set  down  by  Brunswick. 

And  the  royalists,  intoxicated  with  hope,  believed  that 
no  fortress,  no  army,  no  resistance,  could  arrest  the 
victorious  course  of  the  allies.  They  had  not  thought 
of  Moulin  de  Valmy. 

***** 

The  garrison  of  Verdun  had  been  allowed  the  honors 
of  war.     They  went  out  with  arms  and  colors. 

Lefebvre,  now  captain,  was  sent  with  the  13th  Light 
Infantry  to  the  north. 

Catharine  took  little  Alice,  whose  mother,  now  in- 
sane, had  left  her  practically  orphaned. 

She  slept  beside  little  Henriot,  glad  to  have  found 
her  playmate  of  Verdun  once  more,  and  Catharine 
said  to  Lefebvre,  with  a  sweet  smile,  showing  him  the 
two  fair,  sleeping  children,  "  Say,  dear  heart,  now  we 
have  two  children  whom  our  country  has  sent  us,  and 
none  of  our  own  !  " 

Captain  Lefebvre  embraced  his  wife  and  suggested 
that  they  might  some  day  be  blessed  with  children  of 
their  own. 

The  couple  took  to  the  road,  with  anger  in  their  eyes 


Patac  jftutf-gfrtt*.  205 

And  hope  in  their  hearts,  swearing  to  retake  the  surren- 
dered town  and  to  drive  out,  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet, 
the  Austrians  and  Prussians,  who  would  never  have 
entered  except  tor  the  traitors  of  Verdun. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ON   THE   EDGE   OF   THE   UNKNOWN. 

While  these  events  were  taking  place  in  the  east, 
and  while  Dumouriez  and  Kellermann  arrested  the  in- 
vasion at  Valmy,  and  saved  France  and  the  Republic, 
by  forcing  the  Austrians  and  Prussians  to  retreat,  what 
was  Bonaparte  doing  ? 

He  was  with  his  family,  who  had  fled  to  Marseilles 
for  refuge,  and  he  was  penniless. 

After  wandering  from  lodging  to  lodging,  in  the  poor 
quarters,  expelled  by  pitiless  landlords,  Madame  Letizia 
Bonaparte,  undaunted  and  energetic,  found  a  fairly  com- 
fortable situation  in  the  Rue  de  Rome.  The  proprietor 
was  a  rich  soap  merchant,  named  Clary,  who  showed 
at  once  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  the  exiles. 

The  Bonaparte  family  led  a  hard  and  narrow  life. 

Rising  at  dawn,  Madame  Bonaparte  attended  to  the 
household,  cleaned,  washed,  prepared  the  simple  meals, 
and  then  set  her  daughters  to  work.  One  did  the  mar- 
keting, another  put  things  in  order  ;  only  the  youngest 
was  allowed  to  play. 


06  Padame  gnn$-(&mt. 

During  the  day  the  mother  and  the  two  elder  daughters 
did  sewing,  which  brought  in  a  little  money. 

Joseph  had  a  position  as  commissioner  in  the  military 
administration,  but  his  emoluments  were  very  slender. 

As  Corsican  refugees,  victims  of  their  devotion  to 
France,  the  family  received  rations  of  bread  from  the 
town.  Bonaparte,  again  without  pay,  was  unable  to 
support  his  family. 

Face  to  face  with  the  horrible  spectre  of  poverty,  he 
lost  courage  and  conceived,  in  his  over-excited  state,  a 
notion  of  suicide. 

One  day,  having  thrown  his  last  sou  to  a  beggar,  he 
sought  a  crag  that  projected  far  into  the  sea. 

Here  he  fell  into  a  profound  reverie. 

The  smooth  green  water  called  to  him.  Useless  to 
his  country,  disarmed,  thinking  his  genius  reduced  to 
nothing,  having  no  longer  any  confidence  in  himself  ; 
losing  sight,  in  the  darkness  of  the  sky,  of  that  star 
which  had  guided  him  ;  saddened  by,,  the  feeling  of 
loneliness,  and  that  insupportable  idea  of  being  a  care 
to  his  mother,  instead  of  helping  her,  he  considered, 
fixedly  and  sternly,  the  water  plashing  gently  on  the 
rocks  before  him. 

Then,  should  he  throw  himself  down,  he  would  surely 
kill  himself. 

And  out  of  life  his  family  would  have  one  less  to  feed, 
and  could  use  all  the  bread  doled  out  to  the  household 
by  public  charity. 

He  stood  thus,  a  prey  to  his  sinister  resolutions, 
chiding  himself,  reproaching  himself  for  hesitating  to 


iftatUnit  jSattf-tifcue.  207 

die,  persuading  himself  that  he  had  nothing  to  hope  for 
on  earth,  and  looking  coldly  down  into  the  depths  that 
rolled  below. 

He  stood  thus  a  long  time,  on  the  edge  of  nothingness. 

The  sight  of  a  bark,  skimming  along  toward  the 
coast,  awoke  him  from  his  despairing  dream. 

"  I  must  do  it,"  he  said  quickly. 

He  was  calculating  the  distance  and  the  spring 
necessary  to  throw  himself  from  the  rock  into  the 
water,  when  he  heard  his  own  name,  and  turned. 

A  man,  dressed  like  a  fisherman,  ran  toward  him 
with  open  arms. 

Surprised  and  annoyed  at  being  balked  in  his  deter- 
mination, he  began  to  descend  quickly  down  the  rock, 
and  to  seek  a  more  secluded  one,  where  he  could  put 
into  execution  his  dark  resolve,  when  the  fisherman 
called,  *'  Is  it  really  you,  Napoleon  ?  What  the  devil 
are  you  doing  here  ?  Don't  you  recognize  me  ?  Des- 
mazis,  your  old  comrade,  in  the  artillery  regiment  of 
la  Fere  ?  Have  you  forgotten  those  jolly  nights  at 
Valence  ?  " 

Bonaparte  recognized  his  old  companion,  and  the 
two  men  embraced. 

Desmazis  explained  that  he  had  emigrated  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Revolution.  He  lived  peacefully  in  Italy, 
near  Savona,  on  the  shore.  Having  heard  that  his  old 
mother,  who  lived  at  Marseilles,  was  seriously  ill,  he 
had  equipped  himself  at  once,  for  he  was  very  rich,  and 
had  come,  in  fisherman's  costume,  to  the  port  which  he 
had  gained,  without  attracting  attention. 


208  Ptottamt  ^aw^-<5ene. 

Assured  of  his  mother's  returning  health,  he  had  em- 
braced her,  and  had  helped,  by  his  visit,  her  convales- 
cence, and  was  now  going  off  again.  He  had  prudently 
ordered  his  skipper  to  await  him  outside  the  harbor. 

He  waited  for  his  gig. 

"  But  you — what  were  you  doing  in  this  lonely  spot  ?  " 
he  asked  kindly. 

Bonaparte  stammered  a  vague  explanation. 

Then  he  ceased  to  speak,  and  fell  again  into  a  deep 
meditation,  looking  again  fixedly  at  the  green  water 
falling  in  sparkles  of  silver  against  the  black  rock. 

"  Ah,  what  ails  you  ? "  said  the  good  Desmazis, 
anxiously.  "  You  do  not  hear  me.  Are  you  not  glad 
to  see  me  ?  What  makes  you  suffer  ?  What  misfor- 
tune hangs  over  you  ?  Answer  me — for  you  seem  to 
me  like  one  mad  enough  to  take  his  own  life  ! " 

Bonaparte,  won  by  his  comrade's  sympathetic  tone, 
revealed  all  to  him,  and  confessed  his  suicidal  inten- 
tions. 

"  What !  Only  that  !  "  said  Desmazis.  ««  Oh,  I  cam* 
in  good  time  !  Hold,"  and  he  took  off  a  belt,  "  hera 
are  ten  thousand  francs  in  gold.  I  do  not  need  them. 
You  shall  pay  them  back  when  you  can.  Take  them 
and  help  your  family." 

And  he  handed  to  Bonaparte,  who  stood  as  if  stunned, 
the  ten  thousand  francs,  a  fortune  for  the  penniless 
officer. 

Then,  to  escape  thanks,  and  also  to  prevent  reflec- 
tion from  inciting  Bonaparte  to  refuse,  Desmazis; 
abruptly  left  his  friend,   saying,    "  Au  revoir !     Mj 


Padam*  J?att$-<5ftw.  209 

-gig   is    coming — my   men   are   waiting.      Good    luck, 
Napoleon  !  " 

And,  going  quickly  down  the  path  by  which  he  had 
■climbed  to  find  his  despairing  friend  at  a  fortunate  mo- 
ment, the  generous  Desmazis  reached  his  ship,  hoisted 
sail,  and  was  away  toward  the  open  sea. 

Bonaparte,  meantime,  stunned,  had  let  his  preserver 
go,  without  a  word  ;  as  if  fascinated,  he  looked  at  that 
gold  which  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  the  sky. 

Then  suddenly  he  started  toward  the  town,  and 
entered  the  room  where  Madame  Bonaparte  sat  sewing 
with  her  daughters.     He  came  in  like  a  whirlwind. 

He  spread  the  gold  pieces  on  the  table,  crying, 
*'  Mother,  we  are  rich  !  Girls,  you  shall  eat  every  day 
and  each  shall  have  a  new  gown.    Ah,  it  is  a  windfall  !  " 

And  he  chinked  the  money  joyfully,  and  enjoyed  the 
sound  of  the  metal. 

Years  after,  Napoleon  had  search  made  for  his  bene- 
factor. Desmazis,  hidden  in  a  little  village  in  Provence, 
occupied  himself  with  cultivating  violets,  and  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  entirely  the  comrade  he  had  once  helped 
so  opportunely. 

Napoleon  had  a  hard  time  making  him  accept  three 
"hundred  thousand  francs  as  repayment,  and  he  made 
him,  at  the  same  time,  administrator  of  the  royal 
gardens. 

The  ten  thousand  francs  of  his  former  comrade  saved 
not  only  Bonaparte  and  his  family  from  starvation,  but 
they   helped  Joseph  to   contract  a  wealthy   marriage, 
•while  providing  for  daily  wants  as  well. 
H 


210  ptadame  gm$-<Btnt. 

M.  Clary,  the  owner  of  the  house,  had  two  daughters, 
Julia  and  Dgsiree. 

Joseph  paid  court  to  Julia,  and  she  became  his  wife. 

Bonaparte,  always  occupied  with  matrimonial  pro- 
jects, envied  his  brother's  luck. 

He  cast  his  glances  upon  De'sire'e  and  declared  his 
affection  on  several  occasions  very  seriously. 

But  he  was  repulsed,  politely,  gently  ;  but  repulsed, 
just  the  same. 

The  future  conqueror  preluded  his  manifold  triumph 
by  two  successive  feminine  checks. 

De'sire'e,  like  Mme.  Permon,  was  not  attracted  by  his 
sombre  mien  and  his  problematical  future.  Napoleon, 
on  the  other  hand,  seemed  long  to  feel  Ddsirge  Clary's 
refusal.  The  tenacity  with  which  he  had  followed  her 
could  not  but  augment  his  irritation.  The  desire  to 
take  a  tremendous  revenge  upon  the  little  woman  who 
had  scorned  him — who  later  was  called  upon  to  choose 
among  the  brilliant  assemblages  of  princesses  and  arch- 
duchesses— contributed,  largely,  to  throw  him  soon 
into  the  way  of  the  Widow  Beauharnais,  who  was 
destined  to  be  the  Empress  Josephine. 

As  for  D6sire"e  Clary,  her  future,  though  less  exalted, 
was  nevertheless,  a  brilliant  one.  She  married  Berna- 
dotte,  and  we  find  her,  later,  Queen  of  Sweden. 

Such,  then,  was  the  situation  of  Bonaparte,  when  Le- 
febvre  and  his  wife,  in  the  ranks  of  the  Army  of  the 
North,  marched  toward  the  ever-memorable  town  of 
Jemmapes. 


Pattern*  JFatt0-<S*tt*.  211 


CHAPTER  XVI, 

JEMMAPES. 

Robespierre  said,  "  War  is  absurd."  But  he  added, 
*  We  must  go  into  it,  nevertheless." 

This  was  the  "  Credo"  of  the  republicans. 

War  was  absurd  !  because  they  had  no  soldiers,  no 
generals,  no  arms,  no  ammunition,  rations,  nor  money, 
— nothing  which  could  help  a  nation  to  take  the  field 
for  attack,  or  to  maintain  itself  on  its  own  ground  by 
barring  the  way  of  invasion. 

All  the  generals  were  royalists  or  traitors,  Dumouriez, 
Dillon,  Castine,  Valence. 

The  young  Duke  de  Chartres,  afterwards  Louis-Phi- 
lippe, was  favored  by  the  general-in-chief.  Dumouriez, 
in  a  secret  scheme  embracing  the  far  future,  held  for 
the  prince-royal  a  brilliant  part,  the  young  duke  was  to 
■occupy  the  Meuse  and  stop  the  advance  of  Austrians 
and  Prussians  upon  Valenciennes  and  Lille.  His 
laurels  would  be  such  as  could  be  changed  easily  to 
flowers  for  a  crown. 

But  the  Duke  de  Chartres  did  not  conduct  himself 
very  bravely  on  that  great  day  at  Jemmapes,  and  a 
simple  servant,  Batiste  Renard,  in  the  service  of 
Dumouriez,  rallied  the  prince's  brigade,  startled  and 
Teady  to  flee,  deciding  thus  the  victory  at  the  centre. 


212  Pattern*  $att0-(»fctt*. 

The  army — it  was  not  an  army,  but  a  cohesion  of 
combatants,  equipped  wretchedly,  many  of  whom  stilt 
wore  their  blouses  and  rustic  attire,  many  without 
guns,  armed  with  pikes  caught  up  in  haste — was  un- 
disciplined and  uninstructed.  But  they  represented  the 
people,  who,  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm,  had  caught  the 
arms  at  hand  and  sallied  forth,  pell-mell,  for  the  deliver- 
ance of  their  native  land. 

These  enthusiastic  volunteers  went  forth  singing  the 
Marseillaise,  the  Carmagnole,  and  the  Ca-t'ra,  tunes 
which  beat  time  for  their  wild  marches.  But  these 
heroic  troops  had  also  faith  and  endurance. 

At  Jemmapes  the  improvised  infantry  of  the  volun- 
teers of  the  Republic,  commanded,  it  is  true,  by  sub- 
ordinate officers  like  Hoche  and  Lefebvre,  who  replaced 
nobles  who  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  began  the 
work  which  made  it,  for  twenty  years,  victor  in  battles. 
•  On  November  5,  1792,  when  the  sun  set  red  as  a 
bloody  banner  on  the  horizon,  the  army  of  the  Republic 
encamped  before  the  formidable  position  of  Jemmapes.. 

The  neighboring  heights  of  the  town  of  Mons  held 
three  villages,  to-day  active  centres  of  the  coal-trade, 
Cuesmes,  Berthaimont,  and  Jemmapes. 

The  Austrians  held  these  heights.  Outworks,  pali- 
sades, fourteen  small  forts,  quantities  of  artillery,  Tyrol- 
ian  sharpshooters  in  ambuscade  in  the  woods,  cavalry 
massed  in  the  valleys,  ready  to  emerge  out  and  cut 
down  the  French  as  they  came  up  toward  the  hills, — 
such  were  the  naturally  impregnable  obstacles  which- 
the  soldiers  of  Liberty  had  to  overcome. 


Padam*  Jfe«*-6*tt&  213 

The  Duke  of  Saxe-Teschen,  prince  of  the  Empire, 
lieutenant  to  the  Austrian  emperor  and  governor  of  the 
Low-Countries,  was  the  commander-in-chief,  having 
under  him,  Clerfayt,  a  capable  general,  whose  sage 
counsels  were  not  destined  to  prevail.  Clerfayt  had 
withstood  Gallic  impetuosity,  and  instead  of  waiting, 
propbsed  a  sally  in  three  columns,  upon  the  unpre- 
pared Frenchmen,  thinking  to  scatter  them  before  they 
had  formed  in  order  of  battle.  The  advantage  would 
thus  accrue  to  the  disciplined  and  battle-hardened 
troops. 

The  Duke  of  Saxe-Teschen,  happily  considered  that 
little  glory  was  to  be  gained  from  a  night-attack ;  he 
wanted  a  great  battle  fought  by  broad  daylight. 

Dumouriez  profited  by  the  inaction  of  the  enemy  to 
arrange  his  army  in  a  semicircle.  General  d'Harville 
commanded  the  extreme  right ;  Beurnonvelle  the  right 
division  toward  Cuesmes.  The  Duke  de  Chartres  oc- 
cupied the  centre  directly  in  front  of  Jemmapes,  and 
General  Ferrand  held  the  left  flank. 

The  order  was  to  advance  in  column.  The  cavalry 
was  to  protect  the  flanks.  The  artillery  had  been  dis- 
posed so  as  to  command  the  valleys  between  the  three 
hills.  The  hussars  and  dragoons  were  massed  between 
Cuesmes  and  Jemmapes,  to  bar  the  way  of  the  Austrian 
cavalry. 

These  dispositions  made  in  one  part  and  another, 
fires  were  lighted  and  the  night  passed  in  watching. 

While  the  battle  was  about  to  begin,  this  is  what 
was  going  on  in  the  Chateau   de  Lowendaal,  in  the 


214  Padam*  gnntt-t&tnt. 

centre  of  the  village  of  Jemmapes,  situate  between  the 
two  armies. 

A  stream  and  a  wood  protected  it  on  the  French 
side,  and  the  mountain  rose  behind,  sheltering  its  tur- 
rets from  the  Austrian  fire. 

Neutral  ground  between  the  two  camps,  the  chateau 
had  been  designated  as  advance  post  for  both  sides. 

The  French  scouts,  sent  to  reconnoitre,  met  under 
the  walls  Austrian  patrols.  They  had  saluted  each 
other  with  a  few  random  shots,  then  each  little  troop 
had  gone  its  way. 

The  Austrians  held  that  the  chateau  was  in  the 
power  of  the  French,  and  the  French  declared  that  the 
Austrians  had  taken  up  a  position  there. 

The  result  was  that  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal's  resi- 
dence was  unoccupied,  save  by  its  usual  inhabitants. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  had  arrived  the  evening 
before,  and  had  received  there,  as  he  had  expected,  his 
friend  the  Marquis  de  Laveline,  and  Blanche. 

The  troops  had  not  yet  begun  to  move,  and  the 
baron,  more  than  ever  enamored  of  Blanche,  reas- 
sured by  Leonard  as  to  the  conclusion  of  his  love 
adventure  with  Herminie  de  Beaurepaire,  had  not  hesi- 
tated to  hasten  the  preparations  for  his  marriage. 

Beaurepaire  was  dead,  and  Herminie  a  person  with- 
out reason  or  social  existence  ;  there  was  no  obstacle 
now.  Lowendaal  was  free  from  her  reproaches,  her 
tears,  her  threats.  The  living  proof  of  this  affair,  little 
Alice,  had  disappeared  ;  the  baron  found  himself  quite 
free. 


Padarne  gm$-(&m.  215 

He  neared  the  goal  of  his  desires.  In  a  few  hours 
he  would  possess  Blanche. 

The  Marquis  de  Laveline  had  observed  that  the 
moment  and  the  place  were  ill-chosen  for  the  celebra- 
tion of  a  marriage,  when  the  enemy  might  be  upon 
them  any  day.  To  this  the  baron  simply  replied  that 
he  must  fulfil  his  promise.  He  reminded  him,  even 
brutally,  that  military  operations  could  not  alter  the 
settlement  of  debts,  and  that  the  marquis's  lands  lay 
in  Alsace,  under  the  imperial  arms,  and  he  could  not 
easily  escape  from  his  engagements. 

He  added  also  a  remark,  to  such  effect  that  the 
marquis  ceased  to  object  and  said,  "  Then  it  simply 
remains  to  make  my  daughter  decide.  I  cannot  force 
her  to  the  altar." 

The  baron  had  growled,  "  That  is  your  business ! 
See  that  you  bring  the  little  rebel  to  reason  !  " 

He  sent  for  the  notary  of  Jemmapes,  and  ordered  the 
chaplain  of  the  chateau  to  have  everything  in  readi- 
ness to  pronounce  the  nuptial  benediction. 

At  midnight  the  marriage  was  to  take  place  ;  and,  im- 
mediately after,  making  use  of  the  night,  the  couple 
were  to  go  to  Brussels  with  the  marquis.  There,  be- 
hind the  imperial  army,  they  could  await  results  in 
safety. 

Blanche,  since  her  arrival  at  the  chateau,  had  shut 
herself  up,  giving  access  to  no  one. 

The  baron  had  insisted  twice  upon  having  an  inter- 
view ;  she  had  refused  to  let  him  enter  the  apartment 
which  had  been  reserved  for  her. 


216  gttadam*  8nu$-(8m. 

She  stood  anxiously  waiting  by  a  window  for  some 
one  who  was  late.  Her  eyes  traversed  the  deserted 
fields,  looking  in  vain. 

It  was  Catharine  Lefebvre  for  whom  she  looked. 

Her  breast  heaving,  her  heart  beating  wildly,  stop- 
ping now  and  then,  with  bitter  sighs,  her  throat  dry,  her 
hands  shaking  nervously,  Blanche  de  Laveline  re- 
minded herself  of  the  good  woman's  promises. 

She  believed  in  her.  She  told  herself  that  if  Catha- 
rine did  not  come  to  the  appointed  meeting-place,  if 
she  did  not  bring  the  child,  it  must  be  because  some- 
thing had  happened  to  prevent.  , 

What  could  make  Catharine  Lefebvre  fail  thus  ia 
her  promise,  the  unhappy  Blanche  could  not  guess. 
She  did  not  know  that  Catharine  was  with  the  Army  of 
the  North. 

She  did  not  know  that  near  her,  where  the  fires  of  the 
13th  Light  Infantry  lighted  up' the  woods  of  Cuesmes, 
and  whence  scouts  had  come,  stood  Catharine's  canteen,, 
and  that  there  little  Henriot  and  Alice  lay  asleep  while 
the  scouts  approached  even  under  the  walls  of  the  Cha- 
teau de  Lowendaal. 

Caths^ine  had  easily  learned  that  Blanche  de  Lave- 
line was  at  the  chateau. 

A  countryman,  devoted  to  the  cause  of  liberty,  had 
reported  that  the  evening  before  a  fine  gentleman  and 
a  fair  lady  had  come  to  the  chateau. 

In  these  elegant  arrivals  Catharine  had  no  difficulty 
in  recognizing  her  friend,  and  now  her  plan  was  ar- 
ranged ;  she  would  go  to  the  chateau,  she  would  set 


Blanche  de  Laveline  and  tell  her  that  little  Henriot  was. 
with  her,  protected  by  Lefebvre's  soldiery. 

Then  they  would  seek  the  least  perilous  means  of 
reuniting  mother  and  child,  and  making  it  easy  for 
them  to  cross  the  lines. 

Her  resolve  taken,  Catharine,  having  put  into  her 
belt  the  two  pistols  she  always  carried  on  the  battle- 
field, left  the  camp  and  went  toward  the  Chateau  de 
Lowendaal. 

She  had  said  nothing  to  Lefebvre,  for  he  would  prob- 
ably have  disapproved  of  the  expedition,  fearing  the 
dangers  his  wife  would  encounter  in  crossing  woods 
and  fields  at  night  between  two  hostile  armies. 

But  before  going,  she  kissed  little  Henriot,  who  slept 
beside  little  Alice,  and  she  whispered  to  him,  "  Sleep,, 
darling  !     I  am  going  to  your  mother." 

Then  she  started,  careless  and  brave,  thinking  lightly 
of  the  Austrians  who  crossed  the  field,  but  a  little  un- 
easy as  to  Lefebvre's  opinion  about  her  errand. 

At  the  moment  when  she  left  a  little  clump  of  trees,, 
the  last  outpost  of  the  French,  she  saw  coming  toward 
her — a  tall,  thin  form.  The  shadow  of  a  man,  hidden 
behind  a  tree,  was  distinctly  visible. 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  belt,  took  one  of  the  pistols, 
and  said,  softly,  so  as  not  to  be  heard  by  the  neigh- 
boring sentinels  : 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "     And  she  stood  ready  to  fire. 

"  No  enemy,  Madame  Lefebvre,  but  a  friend,"  said 
a  voice  she  knew. 

"  Who  is  the  friend  ?  " 


218  Padwttf  gnn$-(Stnt. 

"  Why,  La  Violette,  at  your  service." 

"  Ah,  you,  silly  boy  !  you  almost  made  me  afraid," 
said  Catharine,  and,  recognizing  her  assistant  at  the  can- 
teen, a  devoted,  though  simple  lad,  who  was  the  butt  of 
the  entire  regiment. 

La  Violette  was  not  a  brave  fellow,  to  all  appearance, 
and  he  was  daily,  as  we  have  said,  the  object  of  jests. 

Catharine  had  put  back  her  pistol,  laughing  at  her 
sudden  action  in  drawing  it. 

"  Well,  come,"  she  said,  "  I  mustn't  scare  you  !  But 
why  are  you  prowling  about  here  outside  the  lines,  you 
who  are  a  coward  ?  " 

La  Violette  made  a  step  forward. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Madame  Lefebvre — I  saw  you  leave 
the  camp,  and  that  is  why  I  followed." 

"  To  act  as  a  spy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  but  I  thought  you  might  be  going  where 
there  was  danger." 

"  Danger  ?  Yes,  yes,  there  is — but  what  is  that  to 
you  ?     Danger  and  you  are  usually  far  apart." 

"  I  have  wanted  for  a  long  time  past  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  danger,  and  I  thought  I  might  find  to- 
night a  fitting  occasion." 

"  Why  to-night  ?  "  Catharine  asked,  surprised  at  the 
young  man's  insistence. 

"  Because,"  said  La  Violette,  a  little  embarrassed, 
and  seeking  for  words,  "  because  at  night,  one  is  at 
ease,  one  is  not  afraid  of  being  seen." 

"  And  you  do  not  want  to  be  seen  ?" 

"  Ah,  for  that  matter,  no  !     If  I  am  afraid,  at  night 


no  one  can  see  it,  while  by  day  that  frightens  me.  But 
something  tells  me  that  beside  you,  Madame  Lelebvre, 
I  should  have  no  fear." 

"You  want  to  come  with  me,  then?"  Catharine 
grew  more  and  more  surprised. 

"  Oh,  do  not  refuse  me  !  Do  not  send  me  back  !  " 
begged  the  poor  lad  ;  and  he  added  in  a  tone  of  deep 
sincerity  and  emotion,  "  I  love  you  so  much,  Madame 
Lefebvre.  I  should  never  have  dared  to  say  so  by  day- 
light— at  the  canteen — before  the  men.  But  here — 
where  all  is  dark,  I  am  braver — I  scarce  know  myself." 

Catharine  had  gone  on  walking  while  she  listened 
to  La  Violette. 

She  would  have  answered,  and  in  a  half-irritated, 
half-satirical  tone  to  her  silly  lover,  but  two  shots  just 
then  sounded  through  the  night. 

"Halt,"  said  Catharine,  who  was  ahead.  "Take 
care,"  she  cried  more  loudly. 

La  Violette  ran  forward.  Behind  him  rolled  a  round 
object,  like  a  moving  hump. 

Catharine  had  seen  the  assistant  cantinier  disappear 
in  a  neighboring  hop-field,  whence  the  two  shots  had 
come. 

Fearing  an  ambush,  she  had  stood  still  on  the  edge 
of  the  field. 

She  heard  a  noise  as  of  broken  branches,  the  sound 
of  blows,  and  the  scuffle  of  feet ;  then,  at  a  distance,  on 
the  plain,  she  saw  the  shadow  of  a  man  fleeing  toward 
the  woods  which  surrounded  Jemmapes. 

«'  He    runs   the   wrong   way ;  he  will    fall    into   the 


22o  Padamc  £m$-(&m. 

Austrian  outpost  and  be  taken,"  she  thought,  suppos- 
ing she  saw  La  Violette. 

And  she  added,  with  a  sigh  tinged  with  regret,  "  It 
is  a  pity  !  He's  a  good  lad,  though  weak.  It  will  be 
hard  to  fill  his  place  at  the  canteen." 

She  started  once  more  on  her  way,  turning  the  field, 
-so  as  to  gain  the  chateau  whose  roofs  she  espied,  when 
lip  from  the  hops  rose,  tall  and  slender  as  the  vines, 
the  figure  of  La  Violette. 

He  held  a  naked  sword  in  his  hand,  and  attempted 
to  wipe  the  blade  on  the  leaves. 

"  You  !  "  she  cried,  stunned.  "  Where  do  you  come 
from  ?     What  have  you  done  ?  n 

"  I  have  kept  that  '  Kaiserlick '  from  re-filling  his 
•gun  as  he  meant  to  do,"  said  La  Violette  quietly,  slip- 
ping his  sword  back  into  the  scabbard. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  Catharine. 

"There,  among  the  hops." 

"  He  is  dead  !  " 

"  I  think  so.  As  for  the  other,  he  has  had  his  chance 
to  have  an  affair  with  a  coward  like  myself,  otherwise 
I  should  have  followed  him,  for  I  can  run  fast,  Madame 
Lefebvre.  But  I  had  something  which  kept  me  back," 
said  the  boy,  showing  the  round  object  which  was 
hung  on  his  back. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  " 

"The  drum,  Guillaumet's  drum — I  took  it  from  him." 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  of  use  to  me.  Besides,  I'd  rather  have 
his  drum  than  his  gun.     I'd  like   to  be  a  drummer  ; 


Padame  gnn$-(8t\\t.  221 

but  I  can't  now,  I'm  too  tall,  Madame  Lefebvre.  Now 
suppose  we  run  on  ?  The  Austrian  I  have  disarmed 
will  give  the  alarm,  and  I  don't  care  to  have  those  white- 
coats  at  my  back.     I  don't  speak  on  my  own  account." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  ?  " 

"  At  night,  never  !  I  told  you  so  !  Come,  Madame 
Lefebvre  !  " 

«•  La  Violette,  you  are  brave." 

"  Do  not  mock  me,  madame  !  I  know  I  am  but  a 
coward.  I  know,  too,  that  I  love  you,  well,  oh,  so 
well " 

"  La  Violette,  I  forbid  you  to  speak  thus." 

"  Very  well — I  shall  be  silent — but  come  on,  on, 
now  while  no  one  is  about." 

Catharine  regarded  her  assistant  with  increased  sur- 
prise. He  had  shown  himself  in  a  new  and  unex- 
pected light.  La  Violette  did  not  flinch  under  fire  ! 
La  Violette  had  thrown  himself,  sword  in  hand,  upon 
two  Austrians  in  ambuscade !  Her  assistant  must 
have  changed,  indeed. 

She  thought  for  a  moment  of  sending  him  back  to 
the  camp  ;  but  seeing  him  so  warlike,  so  martial,  she 
feared  to  pain  him  ;  and,  besides,  two  were  always 
safer  than  one. 

"  La  Violette,"  she  said,  in  a  sweet  and  friendly  tone, 
**  I  feel  I  must  warn  you  that  I  am  going  to  a  place 
where  there  is  danger — great  danger.  Do  you  still 
wish  to  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  follow  you,  though  you  go  through  fire, 
Madame  Lefebvre  !  " 


222  Paitamc  g*K$-(&tM. 

«  Very  well.  Then  begin  by  following  me  through 
water— for  I  must  cross  this  stream  to  get  to  the  chateau, 
yonder.     That  is  where  I  am  going." 

"  Where  we  are  going  !    Lead  on,  madame,  I  follow." 

"Very  well — lips  closed  and  eyes  alert." 

The  two  descended  to  the  bed  of  the  little  river  of 
Weme,  and  crossed  the  water,  coming  about  to  their 
knees. 

Very  soon  they  came  before  the  door  of  the  chateau 
stables. 

Carefully  Catharine  followed  the  walls,  to  find  a 
place  where  it  would  be  easy  to  get  into  the  garden. 

Finding  a  place  where  the  stone  was  crumbling  away, 
she  signed  to  La  Violette  to  help  her  to  climb. 

"Gladly,  Madame  Lefebvre,"  said  this  naive  lover, 
happy  to  feel,  as  he  bent  over,  the  weight  of  the  robust 
Catharine,  who  used  his  shoulders  to  climb  by. 

In  a  few  moments,  both  were  in  the  garden,  step- 
ping cautiously,  hiding  behind  trees,  and  moving  toward 
a  room  where  lights  burned  brightly. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   NUPTIAL   MASS. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  and  the  Marquis  de  Lave- 
line  had  had  a  final  decisive  interview. 

The  farming  noble  had  imposed  his  conditions : 
Blanche  was  to  wed  him  that  very  night,  or  else  he 


padame  £m$-(8tne.  223 

would  leave  at  once  for  Alsace,  and  confiscate  all  De 
Laveline's  property,  not  to  mention  other  reserve  meas- 
ures.    Thus  the  marquis  would  lose  everything. 

The  latter  had  proved  his  great  desire  to  have  the 
baron  as  son-in-law.  It  was  not  only  the  honor  of 
this  marriage  which  attracted  M.  de  Laveline — his  per- 
sonal honor  was  at  stake,  and  he  was  most  anxious 
that  Blanche  should  show  herself  tractable  and  consent 
to  answer  the  baron's  vows. 

The  baron,  as  he  had  made  Leonard  decide  to  rid 
him  of  Beaurepaire,  held  him  by  force. 

He  had  helped  to  engage  the  marquis,  always  short 
of  money,  in  a  scandalous  and  very  dangerous  opera- 
tion. A  friend  of  the  Prince  de  Rohan,  Laveline  had 
had  a  hand  in  the  miserable  Necklace  affair. 

He  had  escaped  detection,  but  the  baron  held  proofs 
of  his  participation  in  the  fraudulent  manoeuvres — of 
the  instigators  of  that  great  deceit  which  placed  the 
Queen,  Marie-Antoinette,  in  a  peculiar  light. 

Could  the  marquis  escape  the  baron  by  fleeing  from 
France  ?  The  Austrian  court,  whose  prisoner  he  would 
become,  would  try  him,  and  avenge  the  honor  of  the 
queen,  and  arch-duchess  of  the  Empire. 

Would  he  remain  in  his  own  land  ?  His  role  in  the 
Necklace  business,  once  exposed  to  the  revolutionary 
government,  would  send  him  to  the  scaffold. 

So  he  was  at  the  baron's  disposal. 

Like  the  roof  over  his  head,  Blanche's  father  was 
between  two  fires. 

So  he  resolved  to  make  a  last  appeal  to  his  daughter. 


224  Pattern*  gm$-(&mt. 

He  found  Blanche  more  resolved  than  ever  upon 
resisting  the  wishes  of  Lowendaal. 

M.  de  Laveline,  when  all  arguments  had  failed,  ended 
by  confessing  his  personal  danger.  The  baron  was 
master  of  his  goods,  his  honor  and  his  life.  Blanche 
must  save  him,  or  his  death  was  certain.  Would  she, 
driving  him  to  despair,  be  guilty  of  parricide  ? 

Blanche,  moved  and  trembling,  on  receiving  this  con- 
fidence, could  only  utter  a  few  incoherent  words. 

She  was  astonished  at  the  baron's  strange  persist- 
ence. Had  he  no  pity,  no  dignity,  he  who  would  still 
marry  her,  knowing  that  she  hated  him,  and  that  she 
loved  another  whose  child  was  a  witness  of  that  love  ? 

Persuaded  that  the  baron  had  received  the  letter  in- 
trusted to  Leonard,  Blanche  tried  to  calm  her  father's 
fears.  She  told  herself  that,  since  he  had  not  told  M. 
de  Laveline,  the  baron  must  have  been  touched  by  her 
confession.  He  had  not  revealed  her  secret,  perhaps 
because  he  did  not  want  to  lessen  his  influence  with  M. 
de  Laveline.  Deeply  in  love,  perhaps  he  hoped  Blanche 
would  retract  her  determination.  He  had  pardoned 
the  fault  she  had  confessed.  He  would  forget  that 
another  had  been  loved  before  him.  Perhaps,  even,  he 
hoped  to  be  loved  in  his  turn. 

There,  then,  at  the  bottom  of  M.  de  Lowendaal's 
heart,  lay  the  hope  that  she  must  crush.  So  she  must 
persist  in  her  refusal,  saying  nothing  to  M.  de  Lave- 
line of  her  reasons  for  so  doing.  Blanche  reiterated 
that  she  would  never  wed  the  baron. 

"  Very  well,"  said  M.  de  Laveline,  carried  away  by 


Padam*  gm$-(&tnt.  225 

fury,  and  mad  at  her  resistance,  "  perverse,  and  rebel- 
lious girl,  I  will  make  you  obey.  You  shall  be  married 
to-night,  hark  you,  to-night,  if  I  have  to  drag  you  my- 
self bound,  to  the  altar  !  " 

And  he  went  to  the  baron  and  told  him  to  hasten 
the  preparations  for  the  ceremony. 

Blanche,  left  alone,  began  to  think.  Lowendaal's  res- 
olution should  not  stand  against  hers.  She  must  resist 
a  union  which  was  so  horrible  to  her. 

But,  for  that  stroke,  she  lacked  her  chief  ally,  her 
boy. 

Why  was  he  not  with  her  ? 

The  presence  of  that  living  witness  of  her  love  for 
another,  must,  she  thought,  convince  the  marquis  and 
make  Lowendaal  give  up  his  wish  to  possess  her. 

She  asked  herself,  with  wild  anxiety,  why  Catharine 
Lefebvre  had  not  kept  her  promise. 

Darkness  had  fallen,  and  she  could  no  longer  look 
across  the  field.  She  must  give  up  her  hopes  of  seeing 
from  afar  a  woman  coming  to  the  chateau,  with  a  child 
in  her  arms. 

Then  she  fell  into  a  profound  melancholy  reverie, 
dreaming  of  armies  which,  like  a  band,  surrounded  the 
chateau  in  dark  masses.  She  told  herself  that  Catha- 
rine might  have  been  afraid  to  start  out  among  these 
men  ;  perhaps  she  had  been  stopped. 

"  She  is  not  coming,"  she  thought,  sadly  ;  "  and  who 
knows  if  I  shall  ever  see  my  boy  again  ?  " 

Then,  frightened  at  the  idea  of  being  forced  to  that 
odious  marriage,  whose  preparations  were  then  going 


226  padame  ^aws-tfkne. 

on,  and  in  despair  at  causing  the  ruin  and  perhaps  the 
death  of  her  father  by  refusing,  the  thought  of  escape 
struck  her. 

She  would  take  the  road,  by  chance,  straight  before 
her. 

Night  was  propitious  ;  the  presence  of  the  two  armies 
favorable. 

Among  so  many  soldiers  she  could  hide  ;  the  roads 
were  full  of  poor  people  who  fled  before  the  troops. 

A  woman  like  herself  would  pass  unnoticed  :  at  least 
unsuspected. 

She  would  get  somewhere — to  Brussels  or  Lille  ; 
thence  she  could  go  to  Paris,  to  Versailles,  and  search 
for  Catharine  and  her  little  Henriot. 

She  had  some  jewels  and  a  little  money  ;  once  far 
from  the  detested  chateau,  she  would  write  to  her  father, 
and,  his  first  anger  over,  the  marquis  would  help  her. 

Her  project  settled,  she  began  to  put  it  into  execu- 
tion. 

She  took  a  little  bag  and  threw  into  it,  pell-mell,  all 
her  valuables,  then,  wrapping  herself  in  a  travelling 
cloak,  and,  taking  another  cape,  to  use  as  a  covering  or 
as  a  mattress  in  the  uncomfortable  places  where  chance 
might  provide  her  lodgings,  she  went  forth. 

Being  careful  to  leave  her  light  burning,  she  opened 
the  door  cautiously,  descended  on  her  toes,  traversed 
the  corridor,  listening,  holding  her  breath,  stopping 
now  and  then  to  hearken — oppressed,  anxious,  but  de- 
termined. 

She  gained  a/loor  leading  to  the  vegetable  garden. 


Padam*  ^antf-Ofatw.  227 

Noiselessly,  she  slipped  the  bolt,  and  was  in  the 
open  air. 

The  night  was  cold  and  clear,  but  not  dark.  She 
must  avoid,  in  crossing  the  open  places,  being  seen  by 
the  men  at  the  chateau. 

Once  in  the  woods  beside  the  park  she  would  be 
safe ;  should  her  flight  be  noticed,  she  was  safe  in 
those  shades. 

As  she  turned,  cautiously,  the  basement  of  the  hall, 
and  passed  a  lower  room  where  the  servants  were  eat- 
ing, she  seemed  to  see,  beside  a  tree,  two  strange  forms. 

She  shivered — stopped. 

Slowly  the  two  forms  moved  toward  her. 

She  was  paralyzed  with  fear.  She  dared  not  flee, 
advance,  nor  scream. 

She  distinguished  vaguely  the  long,  slim  shadow  of  a 
man,  then  a  woman  in  a  short  skirt  and  a  little  hat 
with  the  brim  turned  up. 

Now  they  were  beside  her,  and  the  woman  said 
quickly,  "  Do  not  speak  !     We  are  friends  !  " 

"  That  voice  !  "  murmured  Blanche.  "  Who  are 
you  ?     I  am  afraid — I  shall  call " 


•*  Do  not  call  !  Tell  us  where  to  find  Mademoiselle 
Blanche  de  Laveline  !  " 

"I  am  she!  My  God!  Catharine,  is  it  you  ?  I  know 
your  voice,"  cried  Blanche,  recognizing  her  who  was  to 
bring  her  boy  to  her. 

Catharine,  surprised  and  delighted  at  the  meeting, 
told  Blanche  quickly  that  she  had  come  with  La  Vio- 
lette,  whom   she  presented,  and  who  saluted  respect- 


228  Padame  gm$-(&tnt. 

fully,  to  tell  her  about  her  boy,  and  to  bring  whom  she 
had  promised,  though  amid  the  turbulence  of  war. 

'*  Where  is  my  little  Henriot  ?  "  Blanche  asked  anx- 
iously, afraid  lest  she  should  hear  some  terrible  news. 

She  was  quickly  reassured. 

"  But  this  costume,"  she  said,  astonished  at  the  can- 
tiniere's  accoutrements. 

Catharine  told  her  of  her  service  in  the  regiment, 
and  that  little  Henriot  was  asleep  in  camp  amid  the 
soldiers  of  the  13th  Light  Infantry. 

Blanche  wanted  to  get  to  the  camp. 

Catharine  advised  her  to  remain  at  the  chateau.  On 
the  morrow,  at  dawn,  the  movements  of  the  Austrian 
army  would  be  begun.  Perhaps  the  French  would 
occupy  the  chateau.  Then  nothing  would  be  easier 
than  to  bring  the  child.  To  attempt  to  do  so,  in  the 
dead  of  night,  across  that  guarded  field,  were  madness  I 

"  It  is  fine,  for  me,  a  cantiniere,  to  run  thus  between 
the  two  armies,"  said  Catharine  gayly. 

And  La  Violette  added,  "  You  do  not  know  what  it 
is  to  be  afraid  !  It  is  frightful  !  I  know  it !  Stay 
here ;  it  is  better  !  Madame  Lefebvre,  tell  her  how  it 
was  when  we  had  Austrians  in  the  hop-field." 

Catharine  confirmed  La  Violette's  opinion.  Blanche 
had  best  pass  the  night  in  the  chateau,  and  be  advised 
on  the  morrow  how  to  proceed. 

But  Catharine  was  distinctly  told  then  by  Blanche 
that  she  must  quit  the  castle,  or  she  would  be  forced, 
that  very  night,  to  marry  Lowendaal. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  questioned  Catharine,  en> 


Padame  £m$-(&m.  229 

barrassed,  and  she  added,  "  What  a  misfortune  that 
Lefebvre  is  not  with,  us !  He  could  advise  us  !  If 
only  this  imbecile  had  an  idea."  This  last  was  con- 
cerning La  Violette. 

"  Say,  have  you  any  idea  ?  "  she  said  to  her  attend- 
ant, quickly. 

"  If  you  wish,  Madame  Lefebvre,"  he  said,  timidly, 
"  I  can  return  to  the  camp  and  bring  the  child." 

Catharine  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  can't  fancy  you,  La  Violette,  carrying  a  child  in 
your  arms." 

"  Could  I  go  with  you  ?  "  said  Blanche  quickly.  "  Oh, 
yes,  Catharine,  let  me  go." 

"But  the  danger — the  cannon — the  sentinels  ?" 

"  I  fear  them  not.  What  does  a  mother  fear  who 
longs  to  embrace  her  child  ?  " 

Catharine  was  about  to  answer  that  she  would  retreat 
with  her  to  the  French  camp,  when  the  sound  of  a 
voice  made  them  all  hide  behind  the  trees,  whose 
shadow  might  protect  them. 

Surrounded  by  servants  bearing  torches,  the  Baron 
de  Lowendaal  said  to  one  of  his  servants,  "  Tell  Made- 
moiselle de  Laveline  that  the  hour  for  the  ceremony  has 
come,  and  that  I  shall  await  her  in  the  chapel,  in  com- 
pany with  her  father,  the  marquis." 

The  baron  crossed  the  space  before  the  chateau,  and 
entered  the  chapel,  a  little  edifice  toward  the  right,  in 
the  centre  of  a  mossy  elevation. 

"O  God!  I  am  lost — they  will  see  that  I  am 
gone,"  murmured  Blanche. 


230  partame  £fttt0-<£ent. 

"  We  must  gain  time — but  how  ?  There  is  only  one 
means,  and  that  is  risky,"  said  Catharine. 

"  What  ?  Speak,  Catharine.  I  am  ready  to  brave 
any  danger  rather  than  be  violently  given  to  that  man. 
I  shall  never  go  to  that  chapel." 

"  If  some  one  should  stay  in  your  stead  1  That  would 
delay  their  search  a  quarter  of  an  hour  !  " 

"  It  would  mean  safety  !  I  could  get  out  of  the  park 
and  hide  in  the  fields.  Who  knows  ?  I  might  even 
reach  the  French  outposts.  Oh,  it  is  an  excellent  idea  ! 
But  who  will  take  my  place  ?  " 

"  I," said  Catharine.  "  Come,  vou  have  not  a  moment 
to  lose.  Give  me  your  cloak.  Hasten  !  Your  baron  is 
coming  !  " 

Lowendaal,  having  seen  that  all  was  ready  in  the 
chapel,  returned,  satisfied,  to  look  for  M.  de  Laveline, 
and  to  give,  in  passing,  some  orders  to  the  grooms 
about  the  journey.  As  soon  as  the  marriage  was  cel- 
ebrated, he  wanted  to  get  away  with  his  young  bride 
toward  Brussels.  The  approach  of  the  Austrian  army 
and  the  probabilities  of  battle  made  him  push  forward 
the  hour  he  had  set  for  the  ceremony,  and  for  the 
journey. 

Catharine  had  wrapped  herself  quickly  in  Blanche's 
cloak. 

The  latter,  covering  herself  with  the  cape  she  had 
provided,  had  silently  embraced  the  energetic  can- 
tiniere,  and  followed  La  Violette,  who  was  proud  of 
his  new  part,  as  helper  to  a  wandering  damsel. 

Catharine  followed  them  anxiously,  till  they  were 
lost  in  the  gloom. 


iftadam*  <fan0-<*ktt*.  231 

They  were  beyond  the  limits  of  the  park. 

Blanche  was  beyond  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal's  vio- 
lence.    She  would  soon  see  her  boy. 

"  Poor  little  Henriot !  Shall  I  return  to  him  !  " 
thought  Catharine  sadly  ;  "  and  Lefebvre,  shall  I  never 
see  him  again  ?  Bah  !  I  must  not  think  of  that !  I 
must  try  to  play  well  my  new  part,  as  a  nance"e,"  she 
added,  with  her  habitual  good-humor. 

She  went  bravely  toward  the  lighted  hall,  where,  sup- 
per over,  the  servants  joked. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  said,  briefly,  "  Let 
one  of  you  go  and  tell  monsieur  the  baron  that  Mile,  de 
Laveline  awaits  him  in  the  chapel." 

Then  she  retired  slowly,  forcing  herself  to  walk 
majestically,  and  taking  care  not  to  trip  herself  with 
her  cloak,  which  was  somewhat  too  long. 

As  she  was  about  to  enter  the  chapel,  she  heard 
voices  near  her. 

"  The  baron  spoke. 

"  Then  you  have  the  password,  Leonard  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  was  able  to  get  it.  I  lured  to  the  kitchen 
a  courier  under  the  pretext  of  giving  him  reireshments. 
I  gave  him  some  drink,  and  he  was  evidently  very 
thirsty,  and  sleepy  too,  for  he's  asleep  now." 

"  And  his  papers,"  said  Lowendaal. 

"  I  have  read  them — nothing  important — except  the 
orders,  and  them  I  have  kept." 

"It  is  well,  Leonard — run  quickly  to  the  great  Aus- 
trian guards — to  warn  the  commanding  officer." 

And  the  baron  ceased  speaking  and  re-entered  the 
chateau. 


233  fflatae  gm$-(&m. 

•«  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  thought  Catharine.  '*  What 
•rders  were  they  ?     Ours,  perhaps  ?  " 

She  wondered  what  she  should  do.  Ought  she  not 
flee  to  the  French  camp  and  give  an  alarm  ? 

But  she  had  promised  Blanche  to  stay  and  deceive 
her  persecutors,  by  personating  her  in  the  chapel. 

First  of  all,  she  must  keep  her  promise,  after  that  she 
might  have  time  to  get  to  the  camp  and  warn  Lefebvre 
of  treason. 

She  entered  the  chapel  resolutely,  waiting  impatiently 
for  the  baron's  entry,  that  she  might  escape  and  give 
the  alarm  to  her  husband's  soldiers. 

"  If  they  should  be  surprised  in  their  sleep,"  she 
thought  anxiously. 

"  No,"  she  assured  herself,  "  the  13th  sleeps  with  one 
•eye  open,  and  they  will  let  no  '  Kaiserlicks,'  even  with  a 
stolen  password,  arrive  within  gunshot  without  showing 
them  how  we  are  cared  for,  and  how  we  defy  traitors." 

And,  somewhat  calmed,  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
arm-chairs  prepared  for  the  couple  before  the  altar. 

The  priest  knelt,  praying  devoutly  in  a  corner. 

He  paid  no  heed  to  her. 

She  looked  curiously  at  the  altar-pieces,  the  orna- 
ments, the  little  oil-lamp  which  shed  its  flickering 
light  about,  and  the  four  lighted  candles  giving  out  their 
funereal  rays. 

«'  B-r-r-r  !  this  were  a  better  place  for  masses  for  the 
dead,  than  for  a  marriage  service,"  murmured  Catha- 
rine impressed  by  the  solemnity  of  the  religious  edifice. 

Her  waiting  was  not  long. 


Suddenly  the  chapel  door  opened  loudly.  A  noise 
of  feet  and  a  clink  of  swords  resounded. 

Catharine,  to  preserve  her  disguise  as  long  as  possible, 
had  wrapped  herself  completely  in  Blanche's  cloak,  and 
knelt,  avoiding  turning  round. 

The  priest  had  risen  slowly,  and,  after  bowing  twice, 
had  approached  the  altar.  He  had  begun  rapidly 
and  in  a  low  voice  to  read  the  ritual. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  meantime,  reaching  her  he 
thought  his  fiancee,  took  his  hat  in  his  hand,  knelt  and 
said  gallantly,  smiling  the  while,  "  I  had  hoped,  ma- 
demoiselle, to  have  the  honor  and  the  great  pleasure  of 
accompanying  you  myself  to  this  sacred  spot,  with 
your  father,  who  is  as  happy  as  I  am  at  your  consent. 
I  understand  your  timidity  and  pardon  it.  Now,  may 
I  take  my  place  by  your  side  ?  " 

Catharine  neither  spoke  nor  stirred. 

"  I  am  glad,  daughter,"  said  the  marquis,  who  now 
came  to  her.  "  I  congratulate  you  on  becoming  reason- 
able at  last."  Aloud,  he  added,  "  But,  Blanche,  take  off 
that  travelling-cloak.  It  is  not  well  to  marry  thus — and 
besides  it  is  necessary  to  do  honor  to  our  guests,  your 
witnesses  and  those  of  your  husband — General  Cler- 
fayt's  officers.  Show  them,  at  least  your  face  !  Smile  a 
little  :  it  is  meet  on  such  a  day  !  One  should  see  you 
smiling." 

Catharine,  hearing  the  Austrian  officers  named,  made 
a  quick  movement. 

She  threw  aside  her  cloak,  and  showed  her  tricolored 
skirt. 


234  Padame  jftiM  &U, 

The  marquis  caught  the  cloak  quickly,  and  drew  it 
away  altogether. 

"This  is  not   my  daughter,"  cried   the  marquis,  as- 
tounded. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  said  the  equally  astonished  baron. 

The  preacher,  turning  aside  toward  the  cross,  held 
out  his  arms,  saying, 

"  Benedicat  vos,  omnipotens  Deus  !  Dominus  vobis- 
cum." 

He  waited  for  the  answer, 

"  Et  cum  spiritu  tuo." 

But  the  fright  was  too  general  for  any  one  to  follow 
the  service. 

The  Austrian  officers  had  drawn  near. 

"  A  Frenchwoman  !  A  cantinere,"  said  he  who 
appeared  to  be  the  chief,  with  comical  affright. 

"  Well  !  Yes,  a  Frenchwoman  !  Catharine  Le- 
febvre,  cantiniere  of  the  13th  !  Really,  that  turns  your 
stomachs,  my  lads,"  cried  Madame  Sans-Ggne,  freeing 
herself  of  her  long  cloak,  and  ready  to  laugh  in  the 
face  of  the  discomfited  bridegroom,  to  bandy  words 
with  the  furious  marquis,  and  to  snap  her  fingers  at 
the  uneasy  Austrian  officers,  wondering  if  the  soldiers 
of  the  13th,  whose  number  Catharine  had  fearlessly 
hurled  at  them,  like  a  trumpet-call  or  a  battle-cry, 
were  about  to  come  out  of  the  confessional,  and  surge 
from  out  the  church  under  the  protection  of  the  God 
of  armies. 


gfladam*  jtattf-tftne.  235 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  DEBT   OF   GRATITUDE. 

The  first  moment  of  surprise  past,  one  of  the  officers 
laid  his  hand  upon  Catharine's  shoulder. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,  madame,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"Why,  then,"  said  Catharine,  "I  am  not  fighting  t 
I  came  on  a  visit,  privately " 

"Do  not  jest!  you  have  introduced  yourself  into  this 
chateau,  of  which  I  have  taken  possession  in  the  name 
of  the  Emperor  of  Austria.  You  are  French,  and  in 
Austrian  territory  ;  I  shall  guard  you " 

"  So  you're  arresting  women  ?     That  is  not  gallant.'* 

"  You  are  a  cantiniere." 

"Cantineres  are  not  soldiers." 

"  You  are  not  taken  as  a  soldier,  but  as  a  spy," 
said  the  officer :  and  making  a  sign  behind  him,  he 
ordered,  "  Let  some  one  get  four  men  to  guard  this 
woman  until  she  has  been  tried  and  her  fate  decided. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal,  who  had  rushed  away  to- 
Blanche's  room,  now  returned. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he  in  a  half-strangled  voice, 
"  that  woman  is  the  accomplice  of  a  flight ;  she  has 
helped  my  fiancee,  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline,  to  get 
away.  Where  is  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  ?  "  he  asked, 
turning  furiously  on  Catharine. 


236  Padame  £nn$-(&ti\t. 

The  latter  began  to  laugh. 

"  If  you  want  to  see  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  again," 
she  said  to  him,  "  you  must  leave  these  Austrian  gentle- 
men, and  get  to  the  French  camp.  She  is  waiting  there." 

"  In  the  French  camp !  What  business  has  she 
there  ?  " 

The  marquis  whispered  to  the  baron,  "  Let  that  fact 
make  you  easy  !  She  cannot,  among  the  French,  be 
with  that  Neipperg  of  whom  you  were  jealous." 

He  tried  to  calm  thus  the  discomfited  fiance". 

"  It  is  possible,"  said  the  baron,  "  but,  once  more, 
•what  can  she  be  doing  in  the  French  camp  ?  Can  she 
be  in  love  with  Dumouriez  ?  " 

"She  went  there  to  get  her  child,"  said  Catharine 
quietly. 

"  Her  child,"  cried  the  baron  and  the  marquis, 
both  equally  astonished. 

"  Why,  yes,  little  Henriot,  a  lovely  little  cherub, 
fairer  than  any  child  of  yours  could  ever  be,  Baron  !  " 
cried    Catharine   familiarly,  to    the  sorry  bridegroom. 

But  Lowendaal  moved  aside,  too  much  mystified, 
too  much  stunned,  to  answer  Catharine's  mockery. 

Leonard,  meantime,  who  had  assisted  at  this  scene, 
was  quite  disconcerted  and  made  a  sorry  face. 

All  his  projects  were  gone.  Blanche  was  flown,  the 
child,  of  whose  existence  the  baron  was  now  aware, 
was  no  longer  a  means  of  intimidation,  a  menace,  an 
arm  ever  raised  over  her  who  was  to  have  been,  at 
thM  Toment,  the  Baroness  de  Lowendaal.  He  had  no 
-urther  hope  of  realizing  any  of  the  schemes  he  had 


padame  gm$-<&tut.  237 

concocted  since  he  came  into  possession  of  Madem- 
oiselle de  Laveline's  secret. 

He  thought  over  quickly  the  part  he  should  take. 

He  was  a  clever  man  as  well  as  an  unscrupulous 
one,  this  Leonard  ;  and  only  his  fear  of  the  galleys 
kept  him  from  betraying  his  patron  at  this  time. 

"  I,  too,  shall  go  to  the  French  camp,"  he  mur- 
mured, "  I  have  the  password.  I  can  pass — and  per- 
haps I  have  not  lost  everything.  We  shall  meet,  my 
baroness  !  " 

So,  noiselessly,  he  slipped  behind  the  Austrian 
soldiers  whom  one  of  the  officers  had  brought,  gained 
the  chapel  door,  and  shot  across  the  fields. 

The  officer  who  had  arrested  Catharine  said,  shortly, 
*'  We  must  get  through.  Baron,  have  you  any  observa- 
tions to  make  ?  any  question  to  ask  of  the  prisoner  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  Take  her  away  !  Guard  her  !  Shoot 
her  !  "  cried  he  desperately  ;  "  or,  better,"  he  added  in 
comical  despair,  "  question  her,  find  out  what  she 
knows  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  Mademoiselle  de  Lave- 
line  ;  maybe  she  will  tell  what  she  knows  about  the 
child  she  spoke  of." 

The  officer  answered  quietly,  "  We  are  going  to  im- 
prison her  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  chateau — to-mor- 
row she  will  be  called  upon  to  answer." 

"  To-morrow  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic  will  be 
here,  and  we  will  not  speak  together,  for  you  will  all 
be  dead  or  captured,"  cried  Catharine  proudly. 

"  Take  her,"  said  the  officer,  coldly,  turning  toward 
his  men.     And  he  added, 


238       gftadanw  £att0-(#m. 

"  Put  down  your  guns,  and  carry  that  woman,  after 
tying  her,  if  she  resists." 

The  four  men  leaned  their  guns  against  the  rail  of 
the  chancel,  and  advanced,  ready  to  execute  the  order. 

"  Do  not  dare  to  come  near  me,"  cried  Catharine. 
"  The  first  man  who  moves  is  dead  ! "  And,  drawing 
her  two  pistols,  she  presented  them  at  the  soldiers  who 
were  about  to  arrest  her. 

"  Advance  !  Advance  !  "  roared  the  officer,  ««  are 
you  afraid  of  a  woman  ?  " 

The  four  men  were  about  to  attempt  to  execute  the 
order,  when,  through  the  silence  of  the  night,  close  to 
the  chapel,  sounded  the  roll  of  the  drum. 

It  was  the  onset  of  battle.  "  The  French  !  The 
French  !  "  cried  the  terrified  baron. 

And  a  sudden,  irresistible  panic  ensued. 

The  soldiers,  forgetting  their  guns,  ran  in  disorder. 
On  their  tracks  sprang  the  officers,  seeking  to  rally 
them  so  as  to  return  to  their  quarters,  persuaded  that 
this  was  an  attack  by  Dumouriez's  advance-guard. 

The  marquis  and  the  baron  fled,  to  shut  themselves 
up  in  the  chateau. 

The  chapel  was  deserted.  The  priest,  at  the  altar, 
indifferent  to  all  that  passed,  continued  to  pray. 

The  drum  continued  to  sound  more  loudly. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  chapel,  Catharine,  surprised, 
and  happy,  saw  appearing,  still  beating  his  drum,  the 
tall,  spare  form  of  La  Violette. 

"  You  here  !  "  she  cried.  "  What  for  ?  Where  is 
the  regiment  ?  n 


Padame  gm$-(8ent.  239 

"  In  the  camp.  By  heaven  !  "  said  La  Violette,  stop- 
ping. "  I  came  just  in  time,  Madame  Lefebvre.  Say, 
if  we  close  the  doors,  will  we  be  more  alone  ?  " 

And  he  closed  the  doors  quickly,  and  adjusted  the 
bolt. 

Then  he  explained  to  Catharine  how  he  had  con- 
ducted Blanche  to  the  camp,  but  that  midway  they 
had  met  a  French  patrol,  commanded  by  Lefebvre. 

He  had  given  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  in  charge 
of  two  reliable  men,  and  she  was  now,  surely,  safe 
with  her  little  Henriot,  in  Dumouriez's  lines. 

Then,  he  had  hurried  back  to  the  chateau,  fearing 
for  the  safety  of  the  I3th's  brave  cantiniere.  Surprised 
by  the  noise  in  the  chapel,  he  had  gone  thither,  and, 
raising  himself  up  to  a  window,  had  seen  the  danger  o* 
his  captain's  wife. 

Suddenly  an  idea  struck  him.  He  would  use  his 
drum  to  frighten  off  the  "  Kaiserlicks." 

"  And  so,  Madame  Lefebvre,  I  found  a  good  use  for 
the  chappie's  drum.  Wouldn't  I  make  a  fine  drum- 
mer ?  But  I'm  too  tall."  Thus  ended  the  brave  boy's 
recital. 

"  Where  did  you  leave  my  husband  ?  "  asked  Cath- 
arine, anxiously. 

"  Two  hundred  yards  from  here  !  ready  to  run  with 
his  men,  if  I  give  the  signal." 

"  What  signal  ?  " 

•«  A  shot." 

••  Listen  !  I  think  some  one  is  coming.  Do  you  not 
hear  it— that  noise — like  the  tramp  of  horses  ?  " 


240  Paflam*  £nm-(&tnc. 

The  steps  of  men  and  a  trampling  of  horses  indicated 
the  arrival  of  a  great  troop,  with  cavalry. 

"  Shall  I  shoot,  Madame  Lefebvre  ?  "  said  La  Vio- 
lette taking  hold  of  his  gun.  And  he  added,  seeing 
the  forgotten  Austrian  guns,  "  We  can  give,  with  these, 
four  good  signals." 

"  Do  not  shoot,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  Why  ?  Do  not  think  I'm  afraid  of  the  '  Kaiserlicks,' 
for  it  is  night,  and,  as  I've  told  you,  now  I'm  not 
afraid." 

"  Unhappily,  the  Austrians  have  re-enforcements. 
You  will  throw  Lefebvre  and  our  men  into  an  ambus- 
cade. We,  too,  must  escape  otherwise — we  must 
talk " 

•«  Command,  Madame  Lefebvre,  I  am  here  to  serve 
you." 

A  rude  knock  came  on  the  door,  and  a  voice  cried, 
"Open  !  or  we'll  force  the  door." 

Catharine  told  La  Violette  to  draw  the  bolt.  The 
door  was  open,  and  cavaliers  and  soldiers  entered. 
Their  dark  mass  was  shown  by  glittering  swords,  and 
casques  and  helmets,  in  the  dark. 

Catharine  and  La  Violette  had  taken  refuge  beside 
the  altar. 

They  saw  there  a  great,  black  shadow. 

It  was  the  priest,  who,  having  finished  his  mass,  was 
muttering  prayers — perhaps,  for  those  engaged  in  war. 

The  soldiers  had  invaded  the  chapel.  Everywhere 
gleamed  swords  and  guns. 

The  officer  who  had  wanted  to  arrest  Catharine,  re« 


ptadame  #att0-<#*tt*.  241 

appeared,  humiliated  by  having  run  before  a  woman, 
and  anxious  to  take  his  revenge. 

He  turned  to  a  personage  enveloped  in  an  embroid- 
ered cloak,  who  seemed  to  be  a  superior  officer. 

"  Colonel,"  said  he,  "  we  should  shoot  this  soldier 
and  this  woman " 

"The  woman,  too?"  asked  the  man  he  called 
colonel,  coldly. 

"  They  are  spies — our  orders  are  such " 

"  Ask  them  who  they  are — their  names — what  they 
wanted  here — then  we  will  decide,"  said  the  colonel. 

Catharine  had  listened. 

"  I  demand,"  she  said  firmly,  "  that  we  be  treated  as 
prisoners  of  war " 

"  The  battle  has  not  begun,"  said  the  officer. 

"  Yes — by  us  ;  I  was  the  advance-guard,  and  here  is 
the  first  column,"  said  she,  pointing  to  La  Violette. 
"  You  have  no  right  to  shoot  us,  since  we  give  our- 
selves up.  Take  care  !  If  you  permit  any  wrong,  it 
shall  be  avenged — expect  no  mercy  from  the  soldiers  of 
the  1 3th  !  They  are  not  far  off !  They  will  not  be  slow 
in  getting  here  !  Remember  the  mill  at  Valmy  !  Your 
prisoners  will  pay  for  us  both  !  My  husband,  who  is 
a  captain,  will  avenge  us,  as  surely  as  my  name  is 
Catharine  Lefebvre  !  " 

The  officer  in  the  cloak,  who  had  been  called  colonel, 
moved  in  surprise. 

He  came  forward  a  few  steps,  trying  to  discern,  in. 
the  shadow,  her  who  spoke  thus. 

**  Are  you,  madame,"  he  said  politely,  "  related  to  a 
16 


242  padame  gm$-(&tnt. 

certain  Lefebvre,  who  served  in  the  Guards  at  Paris,  and 
who  married  a  washer-woman,  who  was  called  Sans- 
Ge"ne  ? " 

"  That  washer-woman,  Sans-G6ne,  am  I  !  Lefebvre 
— Captain  Lefebvre,  is  my  husband  ! " 

The  colonel,  greatly  moved,  made  a  few  steps 
toward  Catharine,  then  throwing  back  his  cloak,  and 
looking  in  her  face,  said,  "  Do  you  not  recognize  me  ?  " 

Catharine  stepped  back,  saying, 

"  Your  voice — your  features,  Colonel,  seem  to  me — 
oh,  it  is  as  if  I  had  seen  you  dimly  ! " 

"  That  dimness  was  the  smoke  of  cannon  !  Have 
you  forgotten  the  loth  of  August  ?  " 

The  ioth  of  August  ?  Ah  !  are  you  the  wounded 
man  ?     The  Austrian  officer  ?  "  cried  Catharine. 

"Yes,  I  am  he,  the  Count  de  Neipperg,  whom  you 
rescued  ;  and  who  has  ever  been  grateful.  Ah,  let  me 
embrace  you,  to  whom  I  owe  my  life."  And  he  advanced 
with  open  arms  to  draw  her  toward  him. 

But  Catharine  said  quickly,  "  I  thank  you,  Colonel, 
for  having  remembered  so  well.  What  I  did  for  you 
that  day,  was  inspired  by  humanity  ;  you  were  pur- 
sued, unarmed,  and  wounded  ;  I  protected  you,  not 
stopping  to  ask  under  what  flag  you  received  that 
wound — why  you  fled.  To-day  I  find  you  wearing  the 
uniform  of  the  enemies  of  the  nation,  commanding 
soldiers  to  invade  my  native  land  ;  therefore  I  desire 
to  forget  what  happened  at  Paris — my  friends,  the 
soldiers  of  my  regiment,  my  husband — the  brave  boy 
who  stands,  a  prisoner,  by  my  side — all  these  patriots 


Padam*  gm$-(&tne.  243 

ought  to  reproach  me  for  saving  the  life  of  an  aristo- 
crat, an  Austrian,  a  colonel  who  would  shoot  people 
who  give  themselves  up.  Sir  Count,  speak  no  more  of 
the  10th  of  August!  Let  me  forget  that  I  preserved 
such  an  enemy  !  " 

Neipperg  was  silent.  Catharine's  energetic  words 
seemed  to  produce  in  him  an  unusual  emotion.  Finally 
he  said,  in  a  tone  of  perfect  sincerity 

"  Catharine,  my  preserver,  do  not  reproach  me,  that 
I  serve  my  country  as  you  serve  yours.  As  your 
valiant  husband  defends  his  standard,  so  must  I  fight  for 
mine.  Destiny  has  made  our  birthplaces  wide  apart, 
under  different  skies,  and  seems  to  bring  us  together 
only  in  moments  of  imminent  peril.  Do  not  hate  me. 
If  you  will  forget  the  ioth  of  August,  I  shall  ever  re- 
member it ;  and  as  colonel  of  the  staff  of  the  imperial 
army,  victorious " 

"  Not  yet  victorious,"  said  Catharine  dryly. 

"It  will  be  so  to-morrow,"  said  Neipperg.  And  he 
added,  "  The  colonel  of  the  Empire,  who  commands 
here,  has  not  forgotten  that  he  owes  a  debt  contracted 
by  the  soldier  of  the  Tuileries,  the  wounded  man  of  the 
laundry  at  Saint-Roch.  Catharine  Lefebvre,  you  are 
free  ! " 

"Thanks,"  said  she,  simply,  "but — and — La  Vio- 
lette  ?  "  she  said,  pointing  to  her  assistant,  who  held 
his  tall  form  proudly  erect,  desirous  of  showing  to  the 
best  advantage  before  the  enemy. 

"  That  man  is  a  soldier — he  came  here  by  a  ruse — I 
cannot  keep  from  him  the  treatment  given  to  spies." 


244  Pate*  gm$-(&tnt. 

"  Ther.  /ou  must  shoot  me  with  him,"  said  Catharine 
simply.  "  It  shall  not  be  said  at  the  camp  that  I,  Catha« 
rine  Lefebvre,  cantiniere  of  the  13th,  left  a  brave  lad  to- 
die  who,  but  for  me,  had  never  been  taken  by  the  Aus- 
trians.  So,  Colonel,  give  your  orders,  and  let  them  be 
quick,  for  I  don't  want  to  wait.  It  is  not  amusing  to 
think  of  taking  a  dozen  shots  into  one's  body,  when  one 
is  young,  and  loves  one's  husband.  Poor  Lefebvre,  he 
will  miss  me.     But  such  is  war  !  " 

"Pardon  me,  Colonel,"  said  La  Violette  in  his  child- 
ish voice,  "  I  beg  you  will  shoot  only  me.  I  deserve 
it.  I  cannot  deny  it.  Each  for  himself,  and  woe  unto 
him  who  is  captured  !  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  avert 
my  execution.  But  Madame  Lefebvre  has  done  noth- 
ing.    It  was  I  who  kept  her  here." 

"  You — for  what  ?  What  was  she  doing  here  with 
you  ?  " 

"  I  made  her  come, — to  bring  a  child  where  one 
is  not  expected — and  I  am,  at  best,  no  famous 
nurse." 

"  What  child  ?  My  God  !  "  cried  Neipperg,  rush- 
ing upon  Catharine,  **  you  were  to  bring  a  child.  It 
was " 

"  Yours,  Count.  I  had  promised  Mademoiselle  de 
Laveline  to  bring  her  boy  here  to  Jemmapes." 

"  And  risked  it  ?  Oh,  brave  heart  !  Where  is  my 
child  ? " 

"  In  security  in  the  French  camp,  with  his  mother.** 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  no  longer  here  !  What 
do  you  tell  me  ?  " 


Pattern*  gm-(&m.  245 

"  She  fled  at  the  moment  when  her  father  wanted  to 
force  her  to  marry  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal." 

"  But  for  you,  I  should  have  been  too  late  to  save 
her  ?  " 

"Without  La  Violette,"  said  Catharine.  *'  He  did  it 
all." 

"  Ah,  I  see  I  must  set  La  Violette  at  liberty,  too," 
said  Neipperg,  smiling.  "  Catharine,  you  are  free,  I 
tell  you  again.  Take  your  comrade  with  you.  I  shall 
send  two  men  to  accompany  you  beyond  the  outposts." 

Then,  having  given  the  necessary  orders,  Neipperg 
said  to  Catharine,  "You  will  see  Blanche  ;  tell  her  I 
love  her  ever,  and  will  wait  for  her,  after  the  battle,  or* 
the  road  to  Paris " 

"  Or  on  the  road  to  Brussels,"  said  Catharine,  saucily. 

Neipperg  did  not  answer  this. 

He  saluted  with  his  hand  raised  to  his  hat,  and  said 
to  Catharine,  "  Use  the  last  hours  of  night  to  regain 
your  camp.  Believe,  my  dear  Madame  Lefebvre,  that 
I  do  not  consider  my  debt  paid.  I  am  ever  under  obli- 
gations to  you.  Perhaps  the  chances  of  war  may  give 
me  an  opportunity  to  prove  to  you  that  the  Count  de 
Neipperg  is  not  ungrateful  !  " 

"  Pshaw,"  said  Catharine.  "  We  are  quits,  Count, 
for  that  affair  of  the  ioth  of  August,  but  I  owe  you 
something  for  this  lad,"  pointing,  to  La  Violette.  "  As 
you  say,  we  must  all  pass,  and  sooner  or  later  acquit 
ourselves.  Adieu,  Colonel.  And  you,  tall  fellow,  by 
the  right-hand  path,  and  with  quick  steps,  march  ! " 
she  added,  nudging  La  Violette  jovially. 


246  Padam*  gnn$-(&m. 

Both  passed,  proudly,  before  the  Austrian  soldiers. 
La  Violette  did  not  seem  to  lose  a  jot  of  his  height,  and 
Catharine,  her  hands  upon  her  hips,  her  cocked  hat 
with  its  tricolored  cockade  on  one  side,  went  out  with 
her  laugh  of  defiance  on  her  lips. 

As  she  crossed  the  chapel  threshold,  she  turned  and 
said,  sarcastically : 

"  Adieu,  gentlemen !  I  shall  return  with  Lefebvre 
and  his  sharpshooters  before  noon  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

BEFORE     THE     ATTACK. 

Neipperg  anxiously  watched  Catharine's  departure. 

He  wondered  if,  as  the  brave  cantiniere  had  said, 
he  should  soon  find  Blanche  and  see  his  little  son 
again. 

How  should  she,  a  young  woman  with  a  child,  find 
a  way  to  escape  danger,  in  the  midst  of  fighting 
armies  ? 

One  joy  he  had — the  marriage  plotted  by  Lowendaal 
and  the  marquis  had  not  taken  place  ;  Blanche  was  free, 
and  might  still  be  his. 

He  looked  about  for  Lowendaal  and  M.  de  Laveline, 
but  they  had  disappeared. 

An  under-officer,  whom  he  questioned,  told  him  that 
both  men  had  hurriedly  entered  a  carriage  that  awaited 
them,  and  hastily  taken  the  road  to  Brussels. 


Padame  £a»0-<8fl«.  247 

Neipperg  gave  a  sigh  of  content.  His  rival  was  no 
longer  there  to  dispute  his  possession  of  her  who  was 
his  very  soul.  Hope  returned  to  him.  The  future  was 
no  longer  dark. 

Blanche  and  her  child  lighted  it  up.  He  would  find 
them,  and  live  in  bliss. 

But  a  shadow  crossed  that  radiant  vision.  How  re- 
join Blanche  ?  in  what  way  find  the  child  ? 

The  battle  was  about  to  begin.  He  could  not  dream 
of  crossing  the  lines,  nor  of  going  to  the  French  camp, 
even  under  a  truce,  at  that  hour,  when,  with  the  sun's 
rising  over  the  hills,  a  lurid  light  of  cannon  would 
illumine  all,  from  Jemmapes  to  Mons. 

He  must  wait  the  result  of  that  day.  Doubtless 
the  victory  would  be  theirs, — with  the  old,  disciplined 
troops  of  the  imperial  army. 

Could  the  shoemakers,  tailors,  and  mercers,  who 
formed  the  republican  army,  hope  to  hold  out  against 
the  veterans  of  the  Duke  of  Saxe  ?  The  cannonade 
of  Valmy  had  been  only  a  surprise.  The  fortune  of 
war  must  return  at  Jemmapes  to  the  side  of  the  greater 
number,  with  military  skill  and  tactics  ;  the  Duke  of 
Saxe-Teschen  had  already  despatched  a  courier  to 
Vienna  to  announce  the  defeat  of  the  "  sans-culottes." 

But  in  the  inevitable  routing  of  the  French,  what 
would  become  of  Blanche  and  the  child  ? 

Neipperg 's  anguish  was  very  great,  thinking  of  the 
dangers  of  that  defeat,  and  the  disbanding  of  that 
improvised  army,  incapable  of  managing  an  orderly 
retreat. 


248  Pailamc  £m$-(&tnc. 

He  sought,  vainly,  a  means  of  saving  the  two  who 
were  so  dear  to  him  from  the  terrible  consequences  of 
that  disorder  which  he  foresaw,  when  a  sound  above 
made  him  go  immediately  from  the  great  room  of  the 
chateau  (which  had  been  made  a  centre,  and  where 
the  officers  who  accompanied  him  waited  to  be  given 
General  Clerfayt's  orders)  to  attend  to  the  preparations 
for  the  coming  engagement.  He  asked  the  cause  of 
the  tumult. 

He  was  told  that  a  dishevelled  woman,  with  torn 
garments  and  a  wild  look,  was  being  arrested  at  the 
entrance  to  the  Park.  She  had  wanted  to  pass  the 
sentinels,  and  enter  the  chateau.  She  pretended  to  be 
the  Marquis  de  Laveline's  daughter,  staying,  for  the 
time  being,  with  M.  de  Lowendaal. 

Neipperg  gave  a  cry  of  surprise  and  fright 

Blanche  at  the  chateau  !  Blanche  having  crossed 
the  plain,  full  of  troops  !  What  did  this  sudden  ap- 
pearance mean,  when  Catharine  had  assured  him  that 
she  was  safe  in  the  French  camp  ?  What  unexpected 
misfortune  did  this  sudden  return  presage  ? 

It  was  really  Blanche  de  Laveline,  her  garments 
tattered  by  the  bushes  and  brambles  she  had  passed 
through  in  the  fields. 

He  rushed  to  her,  and  enfolded  her  in  a  passionate 
embrace. 

Amid  tears  and  smiles — for  joy  crossed  her  sorrow 
like  a  ray  of  sunshine  through  rain — Blanche  de  Lave- 
line told  her  lover  about  her  flight,  of  which  he  had 


pata*  $M$-(&m.  249 

already  heard,  and  of  her  arrival  at  the  French  camp, 
escorted  by  Lefebvre's  soldiers. 

By  the  instructions  given  by  the  good  Catharine,  she 
had  been  able  to  find  hastily  the  canteen  of  the  13th 
Light  Infantry. 

There,  on  a  mattress,  rolled  in  a  blanket,  she  had 
found  a  sleeping  child.  Beside  it  lay'another  mattress, 
whose  covers  were  turned  back. 

She  had  gone  to  that  sleeping  babe,  kissed  it  ravish- 
ingly  upon  its  fair  forehead  when,  by  the  light  of  the 
lantern  which  one  of  her  soldier-guides  carried,  she  saw 
the  features  of  the  sleeper. 

It  was  a  girl,  who  awoke,  and  stared  at  her  with 
wide  eyes. 

She  shrieked — "  Where  is  my  child  ?  Where  is 
Henriot  ?  "     Her  heart  was  torn  with  anguish. 

The  little  girl  looked  around  her  and  then  said — 
"  Why — Henriot  is  not  here  !  He  has  gone  to  see  them 
shoot  the  cannon  !  Bad  boy,  he  didn't  wake  me  to  go- 
too  !  " 

Later  a  soldier  explained  that  he  thought  he  had 
seen  a  man — a  civilian — fleeing  with  a  child  in  his 
arms,  toward  Maubeuge. 

Blanche  had  fainted  upon  hearing  that  dreadful 
news. 

She  had  been  carried  to  the  medical  post  and  had 
been  cared  for. 

When  she  recovered,  she  had  asked  for  her  child — 
she  remembered  now — that  man  on  the  Maubeuge 
road  with  a  child — she  wanted  to  rise  and  follow  him. 


25°  Iftadame  gm$-(&tnt. 

The  aide  who  tended  her  had  pitied  her  distress. 

•'You  could  not,"  he  had  said,  "  pass  by  that  road 
blocked  with  wagons,  troops,  guns,  and  fugitives." 

"  I  want  to  find  my  child,"  the  unhappy  mother  had 
persisted,  adding,  as  she  prayed  him  to  let  her  go, — 
"  Why  did  that  man  take  my  boy  ?  What  crime  does 
this  point  to  ?  Who  paid  the  villain  ?  For  whom  did 
he  come  ?  " 

No  answer  could  be  given  to  these  questions,  which 
were  uttered  confusedly  by  the  feverish  woman. 

A  sergeant  who  had  joined  the  doctor,  Marcel,  at 
the  ambulance,  whispered  to  him,  and  much  affected 
by  her  great  suffering,  had  said,  "  Madame,  I  know 
something  which  may  put  you  on  the  track  of  the 
wretch  who  stole  into  the  camp,  doubtless  to  help  on 
some  treason." 

"  Oh,  tell  me  what  you  know,"  Blanche  cried,  hope- 
fully. 

"Speak,  Renge,"  the  aide  had  said,  "  in  a  case  like 
this,  the  least  indication  which  can  help  to  find  the  cul- 
prit is  welcome." 

And  the  pretty  sergeant  (for  it  was  Ren6e  the  young 
fiancee  who  spoke)  had  told  how,  in  his  company  was  a 
former  orderly  of  the  unfortunate  General  Beaurepaire. 

This  orderly  had  recognized,  approaching  the  wagon 
of  Catharine  Lefebvre,  a  man  with  whom  he  had  once 
drunk  at  Verdun,  on  the  night  of  the  cannonade.  He 
had  been  sure  of  him.  He  was  a  servant  of  the  Baron 
de  Lowendaal  ;  his  name  was  Leonard. 

"  Leonard  ?      M.  de  Lowendaal's  confidential  serv- 


Padamc  gM$-(Btm.  251 

ant  ?  "  Blanche  had  cried.  And  then,  seeing-  whence  the 
stroke  came,  she  had  accused  Lowendaal  of  having  sent 
Leonard  to  take  the  child,  to  threaten  her,  and  to  force 
her  to  that  marriage  she  had  thought  to  escape  by 
flight.  Little  Henriot  would  become  a  weapon  in  the 
baron's  hands. 

Then,  despite  the  counsels  of  the  aide  and  Rene"e, 
Blanche  suddenly  recovered  and  started  out  again. 

She  had  retaken  the  perilous  route  already  passed 
over,  hiding  among  reeds  and  rushes,  wading  streams, 
her  feet  bleeding,  her  gown  in  shreds  ;  she  had  come 
again  to  the  chateau,  hoping  to  find  there,  with  Lowen- 
daal and  Leonard,  her  stolen  child. 

She  knew  not  what  she  would  do,  what  she  would 
say  to  resist  the  threats  of  Lowendaal  and  her  father's 
commands.  But  she  was  strong  ;  she  would  manage 
to  tear  her  child  from  the  hands  of  the  thief. 

Her  joy  at  finding  Neipperg  in  the  chateau  was  min- 
gled with  the  pain  she  felt  in  hearing  that  her  father 
and  Lowendaal  had  gone  without  any  one's  having 
seen  either  Leonard  or  the  child. 

No  doubt  the  villain  would  join  the  baron  at  some 
place  designated  in  advance  and  give  him  the  boy. 

Yet  how  accuse  Lowendaal  and  the  Marquis  de 
Laveline  ?  And  why  ?  For  no  one  was  sure  whither 
Leonard  had  gone  with  his  precious  burden. 

Neipperg  told  Blanche  that  her  father  and  Lowen- 
daal had  taken  the  Brussels  road. 

"We  will  catch  them  to-morrow,"  he  said,  reassur- 
ing Blanche  a  little  by  his  own  calmness 


252  ptadame  £w-(&tnt. 

"  Why  not  go  to-night  ?  "  said  Blanche  impatiently. 
*«  We  could  be  in  Brussels  by  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow,  my  sweet  wife,"  said  Neipperg,  smil- 
ing, "  I  must  go  to  battle.  When  we  have  defeated  the 
French,  I  may  go  and  follow  the  wretches  who  have 
stolen  our  child.  My  duty  as  a  soldier  must  stand 
before  my  sorrow  as  a  father." 

Blanche  sighed  and  said  :  "  I  obey  ;  I  shall  wait 
Oh,  how  long  will  be  this  night  and  to-morrow  !  " 

Neipperg  was  in  a  brown  study. 

"  Blanche,"  he  said  suddenly  and  gravely,  "  what 
■will  you  do  here,  one  woman  among  so  many  assembled 
soldiers  ?  I  cannot  be  constantly  with  you — and  even 
then  I  must  be  discreet — reserved.  I  have  no  right  to 
claim  for  you  respect  and  help,  regard  and  influence 
from  our  generals,  princes  and  soldiers.  Blanche,  do 
you  understand  me  ?  " 

She  blushed,  bent  her  head  and  was  silent. 

Neipperg  continued.  "If  we  meet  after  the  battle, 
your  father  and  M.  de  Lowendaal,  will  assert  their  au- 
thority." 

"  I  shall  resist — defend  myself " 

"They  will  rule  you,  through  your  child,  whom  they 
hold — so  they  will  claim  my  son.  What  right  would  I 
have  to  claim  that  child,  to  insist  upon  their  returning 
him  to  you  ?  Blanche.have  you  dreamed  of  the  difficulty 
which  naught  can  surmount — nothing  but  your  will  ?  " 

««  What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  right  to  speak  firmly  and  proudly,  in 
your  name  and  mine " 


giftadam*  £m$-(&tne.  253 

m  Do  as  you  will.  Do  you  not  know  that  my  way  is 
ever  yours  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  though  parted,  the  chances  of  war  have 
brought  us  together  ;  and  we  must  be  united  at  once  ; 
you  must  be  my  wife.     Do  you  consent  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  de  Laveline's  only  answer  was  given 
in  the  embrace  she  gave  her  future  lord. 

•«  All  is  ready  for  a  marriage  celebration,"  said  Neip- 
perg.  "  The  priest  is  at  the  altar,  the  notary  is  asleep 
in  the  chateau,  and  has  his  certificates  ;  we  must  wake 
him — he  can  change  the  names  while  the  priest  is 
pronouncing  the  benediction.  Come,  sweet,  and  make 
me  the  happiest  of  husbands  ! " 

An  hour  later,  in  the  chapel  where  Catharine  Le- 
febvre  had  for  an  instant  played  the  bride,  Blanche  de 
Laveline  became  Countess  de  Neipperg. 

The  last  words  of  the  sacrament  had  scarce  been 
said,  which  should  unite  the  pair,  and  while  the  fright- 
ened secretary  was  standing  with  the  contract,  duly 
signed  and  sealed,  a  burst  of  musketry  resounded 
through  the  valley  below  the  chapel. 

Trumpets  and  drums  gave  to  the  echo  the  unmistak- 
able signals  of  combat. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Neipperg  conducting  Blanche 
toward  a  group  of  officers,  "  I  wish  to  present  to  you 
the  Countess  de  Neipperg,  my  wife " 

All  bowed,  and  invoked  a  thousand  blessings  and  all 
prosperity  upon  a  union  contracted  on  the  morning  of 
battle,  the  eve  of  a  great  victory,  in  a  chapel  trans- 
formed to  a  fortress,  where  great  volleys  of  cannon-shot 
pealed  instead  of  marriage  bells. 


*54  iftadam*  &m$-(&m. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  VICTORY  WON  IN  SINGING. 

Those  who  were,  that  memorable  morning  of  Novem- 
ber 6,  1792,  on  the  crest  of  Jemmapes — the  Belgians 
oppressed  by  the  Empire,  and  destined  to  be  freed  by 
the  republican  victory, — saw  a  majestic  spectacle  which 
they  could  never  forget. 

Dawn  rose,  pale  and  gray,  over  the  hills.  Light  winds 
rose  on  the  summits,  bending  the  tree-tops,  and  rus- 
tling amid  the  dry  leaves. 

Great  numbers  of  Austrians,  Hungarians,  and  Prus- 
sians, occupied  the  heights.  The  furred  coats  of  the 
hussars,  the  tall  bonnets  of  the  grenadiers,  the  half- 
conical  caps  of  the  infantry,  the  lances,  the  cavalry 
sabres,  glistened,  twinkled,  shone  in  the  livid  light  of 
that  autumn  morning. 

Below,  improvised  redoubts  and  fortifications  and 
palisades  hid  the  Tyrolese  sharp-shooters  in  their 
pointed  felt  hats  with  a  pheasant  or  heron  feather  stuck 
in  the  band. 

The  artillery,  hid  right  and  left  in  the  embrasures 
of  gabions  and  breastworks,  was  ready  for  delivering 
shot  upon  shot. 

The  Austrian  position  was,  indeed,  formidable  ;  the 


I&adame  jf)i*Mlttt£»  255 

right  rose  to  the  village  of  Jemmapes,  forming  a  square 
with  the  front  and  left  facing  the  Valenciennes  road. 

On  the  three  wooded  hills,  as  an  amphitheatre,  were 
arranged  three  rows  of  redoubts,  each  guarded  with 
twenty  pieces  of  heavy  artillery,  besides  howitzers  and 
three  cannon  to  each  battalion,  making  a  total  of 
nearly  a  hundred  pieces  ready  to  belch  their  deadly 
fire. 

The  advantage  of  position,  the  superiority  of  a  trained 
army,  well  provided  with  ammunition,  commanded  by 
experienced  generals  like  Clerfayt  and  Beaulieu,  the 
force  of  artillery  fired  from  above,  upon  an  enemy 
advancing  on  a  plain  full  of  bogs,  and  forced  to  run  the 
murderous  fire  from  terribly  defended  declivities — all 
this  gave  the  Imperial  general  an  almost  positive  as- 
surance of  victory. 

Moreover,  the  Austrian  army,  well  rested,  installed 
on  dry  ground,  with  plenty  to  eat,  was  ready,  at  the 
first  shot,  to  start  with  the  dawn  and  open  the  battle. 

The  French  had  passed  the  night  on  a  damp  soil : 
they  had  no  time  to  cook  their  soup.  They  were  told 
that  they  should  have  time  later  in  the  day  to  eat  at 
Mons,  after  the  victory. 

And  so  they  started,  with  empty  stomachs,  but  hearts 
full  of  hope,  promising  themselves  a  breakfast  before 
noon,  after  the  battle. 

Slowly  the  mist  rose  from  the  plain,  disclosing 
men  running,  hiding,  advancing  in  a  great  disorderly 
torrent. 

At  the  first  cannon-shot,  while  the  army  was  beginning 


256  Padam*  $?att0-6ene. 

to  move,  the  bands  of  all  the  brigades  began  in  a  mag- 
nificent chorus  the  "  Marseillaise."  The  sonorous 
trumpets  answered  the  boom  of  the  guns. 

From  fifteen  thousand  throats  rose,  simultaneously, 
to  the  time  of  the  artillery  and  the  tune  of  the  trum- 
pets, the  martial  words  of  the  terrific  hymn  of  the 
Revolution.  And  the  echoes  of  Jemmapes,  Cuesmes, 
and  Berthaimont  carried  to  the  Austrians  the  superb 
defiance  of  the  heroic  call,  "To  arms,  citizens';  and 
form  your  battalions  !  " 

It  was  no  longer  an  army  falling  into  line,  but  an 
entire  nation,  rallying  to  defend  its  soil  and  save  its 
liberty. 

The  old  tactics  were  abandoned.  As  if  it  were  a 
sea  bursting  its  bonds,  France  gathered,  forced  its 
masses  of  men  onward  to  the  assault  of  those  heights, 
carrying  redoubts,  fortresses,  palisades,  shelters,  from 
below,  even  to  the  summit. 

A  flood  in  a  hurricane — such  was  the  battle  of  Jem- 
mapes. 

Only  the  cannon  and  the  bayonet  were  used. 

From  a  distance,  the  artillery  desolated  the  Austrian 
defences,  then,  with  naked  arms,  the  volunteers,  guards, 
peasants,  workmen  of  yesterday,  fell  upon  the  defence 
line,  cut  down  the  cannoneers,  forced  the  squares  of 
infantry,  surrounded  the  squadrons  of  cavalry,  con- 
quering instantly. 

The  old  imperial  forces,  veterans  of  monarchical 
wars,  were  cut  to  pieces,  dispersed,  annihilated,  by 
these  raw  young  heroes,  many  of  whom  still  wore  their 


§Mame  Jtaw-tiitate.  257 

farm-clothes,  or  mechanics'  coats,  and  whose  hands 
grasped  guns  for  the  first  time. 

General  d'Harville  commanded  the  left  with  old 
General  Ferrand.  Charged  to  free  the  village  of  Jem- 
mapes,  the  latter  met  some  resistance  ;  Dumouriezsent 
Thfivenot  with  re-enforcements,  and  they  soon  entered 
as  victors.     It  was  noon. 

Beurnonville  attacked  the  right.  Under  his  orders, 
Dampierre  commanded  the  Parisian  volunteers.  To 
these  children  from  the  suburbs  of  Paris  belonged 
the  honor  of  carrying  three  redoubts.  These  impro- 
vised warriors  hesitated  a  moment,  before  the  impos- 
ing array  of  the  Austrians.  The  Imperial  dragoons, 
charged  upon  them  with  a  magnificent  and  terrible 
force.  Intrepid,  facing  death  and  catching  firm  hold 
of  their  guns,  they  drove  forward  with  fixed  bay- 
onets, dispersing  that  gaudy  cavalry  in  all  directions. 
Dumouriez's  hussars  finished  the  rout  and  drove  every- 
thing before  them  as  far  as  Mons. 

As  the  centre  two  brigades  had  halted,  a  soldier, 
without  rank  or  uniform,  Dumouriez's  valet,  Baptiste 
Renard,  took  upon  himself  to  rally  them,  to  lead  them, 
and  so  assured  the  victory  at  that  point.  There  Lieu- 
tenant-General  Egalite\  better  known  later  as  Louis- 
Philippe,  was  in  command. 

It  was  to  the  sound  of  the  "Marseillaise"  and  the 
Ca-ira  that  the  last  Austrian  intrenchments  were  carried 
by  the  Parisian  brigades,  among  whom  were  brave 
volunteers,  and  the  Lombard  contingent.  The  regular 
troops,  the  13th,  with  whom  Lefebvre  fought  like  a 
17 


258  Padame  j&mjei-Gfatt*. 

tiger,  the  marksmen  and  hussars  of  Berchimy  and  Canv 
boraud,  all  these  contributed  equally  to  that  decided 
victory  which  preserved  France  from  invasion,  de- 
livered Belgium,  wiped  out  the  old  German  forces,  and 
gave  to  the  new  republic  its  glorious  baptism  of  fire. 
***** 

After  the  battle  the  victors  wanted  something  to  eat, 
as  they  had  sore  need. 

Breakfast  and  dinner  hours  were  long  past.  They 
decided  on  an  evening  meal. 

They  drank  to  victory  and  to  the  nation,  to  Du- 
mouriez,  to  Baptiste  Renard,  a  hero-servant,  to  the 
National  Convention,  to  the  liberated  Belgians,  and 
to  all  humanity. 

This  last  toast  was  proposed  among  the  volunteers 
of  Mayenne-et-Loire  by  a  young  major,  with  a  blood- 
stained uniform,  for  he,  too,  had  fought  well  among 
the  heroes  of  that  great  day. 

As  they  each  related  their  adventures  during  the 
fight,  one  soldier  said,  suddenly,  ««  You  don't  know 
what  we  found  in  the  chateau  down  there,  which  was 
the  Austrian  headquarters!  Major  Marcel,  it  ought 
to  interest  you." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  the  philosopher,  who  had,  on 
that  day  at  least,  very  conclusive  arguments,  living  and 
dead,  to  make  good  his  theory  of  the  barbarity  of  war. 

"  Why,  Major  !     A  child " 

"  What  did  you  say,  a  child  ?  Tell  us  about  it,"  said 
Rene"  who  had  drawn  near,  for  one  was  sure  to  find  the 
"  Handsome  Sergeant  "  near  the  major,  Marcel. 


Pa^amc  £»tt$-&ftte.  259 

Rene  added,  "Madame  Lefebvre,  cantiniere  of  the 
13th,  has  been  asking  about  a  child.  Tell  us  what  the 
poor  little  thing  was  doing  among  all  the  firing  ? 
And  how  you  took  him  thence " 

"I  didn't  take  him,"  said  the  soldier. 

"  You  hadn't  the  heart  to  leave  the  little  innocent  ex- 
posed to  danger  ?  That  would  be  unworthy  a  French 
soldier  !  " 

"  Listen,  Sergeant,"  said  the  narrator  ;  "  we  ad* 
vanced,  some  comrades  and  I,  toward  the  deserted 
chateau.  We  went  carefully,  fearing  some  ambuscade; 
for  the  absolute  silence  of  the  place  boded  ill." 

"That  was  wise,"  said  the  major.     "  Go  on." 

"  Suddenly,  drawn  by  a  sigh,  we  saw  in  a  cave  what 
looked  like  a  shadow.  I  raised — fired — then  down  we 
went  to  the  cave.  We  heard  a  call — a  cry — forced  the 
entrance,  and  there  was  a  scared  little  fellow  who 
had  been  shut  up  there.  He  said  to  us,  when  he  saw 
us,  "  It  was  Leonard  !  He  ran  away  there,"  and  he 
pointed  to  a  second  opening,  leading  to  an  outer 
passage " 

"  Leonard  !  One  might  be  sure  to  find  that  traitor 
wherever  there  was  any  villainy  to  be  done,  said  a 
voice  behind  the  soldiers. 

It  was  Catharine  Lefebvre,  who  had  come  up  in  time 
to  hear  the  end  of  the  soldier's  story. 

She  said  quickly,  "  What  did  you  do  ?  Shot  Leon- 
ard, I  trust,  and  saved  the  child.  Where  is  he,  dear 
little  Henriot  ?  For  I  am  sure  it  is  he,  whom  that 
wretch  stole  and  wanted  to  give  over  to  the  Baron  de 


260  gftadamc  gm$-(&tm. 

Lowendaal.  Speak  up,  you  slow  fellow,"  she  said  to 
the  soldier. 

He  hung  his  head.  "  Leonard  escaped,"  he  said. 
«•  As  for  the  boy " 

"  You  left  him,  wretch  ?  " 

"  I  had  to.  In  getting  out,  that  fellow  Leonard  set 
fire  to  a  barrel  of  powder  left  by  the  Austrians.  We 
had  to  make  a  rush  for  the  barracks — to  beat  a  retreat." 

"Friends,"  cried  Catharine,  "  kind  hearts  are  not  lack- 
ing among  you.  Who  will  go  and  search  among  the 
ruins  about  the  chateau  ?  Perhaps  the  poor  little  one 
is  still  living  !  Well !  Don't  all  speak  at  once,"  said 
she,  irritated  by  their  silence. 

"One  may  happen  to    be  wounded,"  said  one   man. 

"  We  haven't  finished  our  soup,"  said  another. 

"  To-morrow  we  must  be  in  condition  to  enter  Mons," 
said  a  third. 

And  he  who  had  told  the  adventure,  growled  :  "  There 
may  be  shots  still,  and  more  powder  barrels  to  burst  in 
that  wretched  place.  A  child  isn't  worth  risking  one's 
skin  for  that  way " 

"I  am  going,  anyway,"  said  Catharine,  "and  alone, 
too  ;  for  Lefebvre  is  busy  at  the  outpost,  and  you  are 
too  great  cowards  to  go  with  me,  I  promised  his 
mother  to  bring  her  that  child  one  day,  and  I  shall  hold 
to  my  promise.  Eat,  drink  and  sleep  well,  children  ! 
Good-night !  • 

"  Madame  Lefebvre,  I  will  go  with  you,  if  you  like," 
said  the  Handsome  Sergeant.  «'  Two  are  more  cour« 
ageous  than  one  1 " 


Padawe  ^ans-iSae.  261 

«« Say  three,"  said  a  timid  voice,  and  the  tall  La 
Violette  appeared.  His  sword  had  no  longer  a  scab- 
bard, his  uniform  was  torn  with  sabre-cuts.  He  wore 
\he  cap  of  a  dragoon — captain  of  the  Imperial  army. 

"  You  coming  with  us,  La  Violette  ?  It  is  good  of 
you,  lad.  We  are  going,  you  know,  about  our  little 
Henriot,  for  it  is  certainly  he  whom  that  poltroon 
Leonard  has  left  in  the  chateau  !  " 

"It  is  for  you,  I  am  going,  Madame  Lefebvre.  I  shall 
not  let  you  go  alone,  across  the  battle-field,  as  you 
know.  Ah  !  I  was  mightily  afraid  by  daylight !  That 
captain  of  dragoons  should  have  noticed  it,  when  he 
made  for  my  head  with  his  sabre — you  see  I  had  no 
cap." 

*•  And  you  killed  the  captain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  take  his  casque.  I  couldn't  go  about  bare- 
headed. It  would  look  as  if  I'd  slept  during  the 
battle  ;  and  that  would  not  have  been  comfortable, 
Madame  Lefebvre.  Then  there  were  five  dragoons- 
with  the  captain  who  didn't  want  to  let  me  take  their 
chiefs  cap — it  seems  they  wanted  it.  So  I  had  to 
treat  them  all  the  same  way  ;  but  it  was  hard,  the  five 
held  on  to  the  last,  and  they  have  hard  heads,  those 
Germans.'* 

"  Good  boy,  you  did  all  that  ?  " 

«'  Yes,  Madame  Lefebvre.  But  let  us  get  to  the 
chateau.  You  know,  I  told  you,  at  night  I  am  no 
coward." 

As  they  were  about  to  start,  a  dark  figure  stepped 
across  their  way. 


262  Padame  gm$-(&tM. 

Catharine  said,  in  surprise  :  "  What !  you,  Major 
Marcel  ?  " 

"  He'll  come  too  !  "  said  Rene". 

"  Is  a  doctor  of  no  use  ?  Suppose  the  child  were 
hurt,"  said  the  major. 

And  so  these  four  went  out  into  the  night  among  the 
slain,  and  the  pile  of  debris  and  broken  arms,  which 
lay  upon  the  field  of  Jemmapes. 

Among  the  ruins  of  the  Chateau  de  Lowendaal, 
Catharine  found  little  Henriot,  once  more  ;  faint,  but 
with  only  a  few  bruises. 

Marcel  attended  him,  and  he  soon  revived.  Brought 
to  the  camp,  the  little  lad,  saved  on  the  battle-field, 
was  adopted  by  the  13th,  and  became  the  child  of  the 
regiment. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE     STAR. 

Toulon,  like  Lyons,  Marseilles,  Caen,  and  Bordeaux, 
had  become  a  place  for  treason. 

The  Royalists,  united  with  the  Girondists,  had  opened 
the  gates  of  the  town,  with  the  arsenal,  to  the  allied  forces. 

All  the  poetry  and  the  charm  which  surround  the 
oratorical  talent,  the  virtues  and  the  renown  of  the 
Girondist  deputies,  cannot  absolve  them  from  their 
crime  of  infidelity  to  the  country. 

At  the  hour  when  monarchical  Europe  hung  over 


Padame  Jf m$-(&tnt.  263 

France,  and  pretended  to  dictate  laws  and  impose  a 
dynastic  rule  upon  the  free  nation,  the  Girondists,  forget- 
ful of  their  past,  misconstruing  their  duty,  hate  against 
la  Montague,  and  fear  as  well  in  an  over  execrable  back- 
ward movement,  went  over  to  the  enemy,  and  called 
the  stranger. 

Happily,  Robespierre,  Saint-Just,  Couthon,  and  Carnot 
watched  in  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  ;  the  volun- 
teers were  in  arms  ;  young  generals  like  Hoche  and 
Marceau  replaced  in  the  frontiers  men  like  Dumouriez 
and  Custine,  now  become  royalist  conspirators.  By 
good  luck,  too,  the  cannons  of  the  Republic,  before 
Toulon  and  the  English  fleet,  were  intrusted  to  an  un 
known  young  artillery  officer,  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

The  traitor  town  was  occupied  by  a  miscellaneous 
force  collected  from  all  points  on  the  shore  :  Spaniards, 
Neapolitans,  Sardinians,  Maltese.  The  Pope  had  sent 
monks  charged  to  inflame  the  people.  It  was  the 
arsenal  of  France.  Its  possession  was  of  the  utmost 
importance,  for  the  rebels  holding  the  sea-roads,  could 
receive  re-enforcements,  and  also  English  troops. 

The  republican  army  was  divided  into  two  parts, 
separated  by  Mt.  Pharo  ;  enthusiasm,  inexperience, 
bravery,  and  lack  of  discipline  were  the  chief  features 
of  this  tumultuous  gathering  of  improvised  regiments, 
destined  to  be  the  nucleus  of  the  future  Italian  army. 

The  command  was  given  by  mere  chance.  Simple 
soldiers  might  become  generals  in  a  week.  The  general 
in-chief,  Carteaux,  had  been  a  poor  painter,  and  was  a 
worse  soldier.     The  Surgeon  Doppet,  and  the  so-called 


264  §ftadame  JtaMtat.' 

Marquis  Lapoype  were  his  seconds.  This  mixture  was 
explained  by  the  desertion  and  emigration  of  almost 
all  the  old  officers  attached  to  the  nobility. 

The  commissioners  of  the  Convention,  Salicetti, 
Fe"rron,  Albitte,  Barras,  and  Gasparin,  were  every- 
where arousing  the  zeal  of  the  chiefs,  haranguing  the 
soldiers,  decrying  resistance,  and  awaiting  victory. 

The  siege  was  long.  The  gorges  of  Ollioulles,  the 
defiles  leading  to  Toulon,  had  be«  carried,  but  the 
place,  itself,  held  out,  defended  by  formidable  out- 
works. Sieges  require  military  experience,  science, 
and  coolness  which  seemed  to  be  wanting  in  the  chiefs 
as  well  as  in  the  soldiers  of  that  new  army.  Carteaux, 
the  chief,  knew  nothing  even  about  the  placing  of  his 
pieces  of  artillery. 

Chance  brought  them  Bonaparte.  Going  from 
Avignon  to  Nice,  Bonaparte  stopped  at  Toulon  to  make 
a  visit  to  his  compatriot,  the  representative  Salicetti. 

The  latter  introduced  him  to  Carteaux,  who,  with 
real  satisfaction,  and  seeking  to  pay  him  a  compli- 
ment, requested  leave  to  show  the  artillery  officer  his 
batteries.  Bonaparte  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  ;  the 
bullets  destined  for  the  English  fleet — so  ill  were  the 
pieces  placed — would  not  go  beyond  the  shore. 

Carteaux  complained  of  the  poor  quality  of  the  pow- 
der ;  but  Bonaparte  quickly  showed  the  stupidity  of  this 
explanation.  The  representatives,  struck  with  his 
reasoning,  gave  him  command  of  the  operations  of  the 
siege. 

In  a  few  days,  with  prodigious  activity,  he  brought 


pmtame  ^att£-(i!ktt*.  265 

material,  guns,  officers,  from  Lyons,  Grenoble,  and  Mar- 
seilles. He  considered  a  regular  siege  useless.  If  the 
English  ships  could  be  sent  off,  the  besieged  town,  he 
thought,  would  surrender.  It  was  necessary,  there- 
fore, to  capture  a  point  whence  one  could  command  a 
double  road — and  that  point  was  the  promontory  of 
Eguillette. 

"  That  will  take  Toulon,"  said  Bonaparte,  with  the 
eyeof  genius.  So  he  made  himself  master  of  Eguillette  ; 
the  English  fleet  hoisted  sail,  and  Toulon  surrendered. 
The  allies  were  defeated,  and  Bonaparte  entered  into 
history,  victorious  ;  having  manifested  the  greatness  of 
his  genius.  He  was  made  general  of  artillery,  and  sent 
to  Nice  to  the  headquarters  of  the  Italian  army,  com- 
manded  by  Dumerbion. 

Elated  with  a  commission  which  could,  at  twenty- 
four,  satisfy  his  ambition  and  push  his  desires,  Bona- 
parte thought  of  settling  his  brothers  and  sisters,  which 
was  ever  his  fixed  idea. 

Joseph's  good  fortune  overjoyed  him.  He  often  said  : 
"  Ah  !  he  is  happy,  that  fellow,  Joseph."  To  have 
wedded  the  daughter  of  a  soap-merchant  seemed  to- 
him  then  a  fine  thing.  There  was  mingled  with  his 
admiration  of  the  newly-wedded  pair  a  little  regret  at 
not  having  gained  D6sire"e,  Clary's  second  daughter. 

But  a  matrimonial  incident  he  had  not  foreseen  came 
to  trouble  and  irritate  him. 

He  learned  at  Nice  that  his  Brother  Lucien  was 
about  to  marry.  And  under  what  conditions  !  Bona- 
parte did  not  cease  to  be  angry  over  it  for  ten  years. 


266  gttadame  gm$-(&tnt. 

Lucien  had  a  modest  position  in  the  military  admin- 
istration at  Saint-Maximen,  in  Vaucluse. 

He  was  young,  fiery,  a  good  talker,  and  was  the  joy 
and  glory  of  a  chop-house  where  he  took  his  meals. 

Boyer,  the  innkeeper,  had  a  charming  daughter, 
Christine.  She  was  not  insensible  to  the  charms  and 
compliments  of  the  future  president  of  the  Cinq-Cents. 
She  told  her  father  she  wanted  to  marry  Lucien. 

The  innkeeper,  who  was  about  to  refuse  room  and 
board  to  his  lodger,  always  in  arrears  for  his  bills, 
shook  his  head,  and  ended  by  consenting.  That  was 
one  way  of  securing  the  account  of  his  debtor. 

When  Bonaparte  discovered  that  he  was  to  have  as 
sister-in-law,  an  innkeeper's  daughter,  he  was  furious. 
Already  he  foresaw  his  own  greatness,  and  was  angry 
with  anything  which,  coming  from  his  family,  could 
injure  his  fortune  or  lessen  his  rising  and  spreading 
renown. 

He  broke  with  his  brother. 

Against  the  young  woman  he  ever  kept  his  ill-feeling. 
She  was  sweet  and  resigned,  and  Christine  Boyer 
made  several  efforts  to  appease  Bonaparte  and  gain  his 
good-will. 

A  touching  letter  of  hers  is  preserved,  written  when 
she  was  about  to  become  a  mother. 

"  Permit  me  to  call  you  brother.  Fleeing  from 
France,  according  to  your  decree,  I  have  come  to  Ger- 
many. Within  a  month,  I  hope  to  present  you  a 
nephew,  for  I  feel  that  it  is  to  be  a  boy.  I  promise 
you,  he  shall  be  a  soldier ;  but  I  want  him  to  have 


Ittadam*  £m$-(&tnt.  267 

your  name,  and  be  your  godson.  Do  not  refuse  me. 
You  will  not  disdain  us  for  our  poverty  ;  for,  after  all, 
you  are  our  brother ;  my  children  are  your  only- 
nephews,  and  we  love  you  better  than  fortune.  May 
I  some  day  be  able  to  prove  all  my  tender  affection  for 
you." 

Bonaparte  remained  deaf  to  that  appeal.  The  inn- 
keeper's daughter  was  kept  out  of  his  heart. 

He  dreamed  of  an  alliance  which  should  flatter  his 
vanity,  and  wanted  to  find  a  great  lady  to  whom  he 
could  not  present  the  ignorant  and  rustic  Christine. 

Bonaparte's  affairs  came  to  a  crisis. 

He  had  lost  his  protectors  ;  the  two  Robespierres 
guillotined,  the  Thermidoriens  pursued  their  vengeance. 
For  a  moment,  after  the  9th  Thermidor,  Bonaparte 
thought  of  proposing  to  the  representatives  a  descent 
upon  Paris  with  his  troops  ;  but  he  gave  the  idea  up. 

Dubois-Crance,  member  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  anxious  to  disperse  the  Jacobins,  who,  despite 
police  vigilance,  were  numerous  in  the  Italian  army, 
sent  Bonaparte  as  artillery-general  to  Vendee. 

Struck  dumb  by  this  blow,  Bonaparte  left  for  Paris, 
with  his  two  aides,  Junot  and  Marmont. 

An  insignificant  artillery-captain,  Aubry,  was  then 
minister  of  war  ;  and  was  jealous  of  the  rapid  advance 
of  the  officers.  Girondist  at  heart,  Aubry  revenged 
himself  on  the  friend  of  Robespierre,  the  strategist  of 
Toulon,  by  sending  him  to  command  the  infantry  of  the 
Army  of  the  West.  He  was  to  rise  on  Dubois-Crance's 
disgrace. 


268  Ittadawe  $att$-$ftt*. 

When  they  tried  to  soften  the  minister  of  war,  this 
sad  successor  of  the  great  Carnot  tried  to  appear  as- a 
Terrorist.  Bonaparte,  having  sought  to  plead  his  own 
cause,  Aubry  said,  dryly  : 

"  You  are  too  young  to  command  the  artillery  of  an 
army." 

"  One  grows  old  quickly  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  I 
am  already  old,"  said  the  general  cruelly,  lashing  this 
arrogant  fellow. 

But  Aubry  was  inflexible.  Bonaparte,  refusing  to 
go  whither  he  was  sent,  was  dismissed  from  the  army. 

So  he  sought  service  with  the  Sultan,  and  would  have 
fallen  back  into  his  former  black  want,  had  not  Joseph 
come  to  his  assistance. 

One  of  the  directors  of  the  war-department,  Doulcet 
de  Pontdcoulant,  came  to  him  and  made  him  enter  the 
surveying  service,  just  as  he  was  about  to  embark  for 
Constantinople. 

The  Orient  had  always  attracted  him.  He  dreamed 
bright  visions  of  realizing  fortune  and  glory  under  an 
alien  sky.  A  seemingly  fatal  love  of  the  Turk  dom- 
inated his  soul.  He  wrote  to  his  brother  Joseph  : 
"  Everything  makes  me  try  the  journey  and  fate  ;  and 
if  this  continues,  my  friend,  I  shall  end  by  returning 
no  more,  unless  I  am  brought  home." 

With  the  blue  skies  of  Islam  came  another  attractive 
and  fascinating  dream  :  he  would  see  a  woman  there, 
elegant  in  all  the  pride  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  old 
social  order  ;  to  her  he  would  give  his  heart,  his  name  ; 
in  exchange  for  which  she  would  give  him  a  sensual 


Padame  g&n$-(&tnt.  269 

satisfaction,  domestic  felicity,  ease,  and  access  to  the 
society  which  was  then  being  reconstructed. 

A  sudden  event  came  to  condense  these  vaporous 
reveries  to  reality. 

The  long  and  formidable  career  of  the  Convention 
was  over.  The  Constitution  of  the  year  III.  was  its 
legacy.  The  members  of  the  Convention  had  decided 
that  both  sets  should  keep  their  places,  in  that  body. 
These  decisions  caused  an  insurrection  in  Paris. 

On  the  11th  Vend6miaire  (Oct.  3,  1795),  the  electors 
of  the  various  sections  assembled  at  the  Odeon,  and  on 
the  iath  the  electors  of  the  Lepelletier  section  re- 
sorted to  arms.  General  Menou,  who  was  ordered 
out  to  insist  on  their  laying  down  their  arms,  met 
them  at  the  Convent  of  the  Fille-Saint-Thomas.  The 
insurgents  triumphed.     It  was  eight  o'clock  at  night. 

Bonaparte  was  at  the  Feydeau  theatre.  Surprised 
at  the  turn  of  events,  he  went  to  the  Assembly,  where 
they  were  discussing  what  measures  to  take.  A  general 
was  needed  to  supply  Menou's  place. 

Barras,  who  was  charged  to  keep  order,  remembered 
Bonaparte,  whom  he  had  known  and  appreciated  at 
Toulon. 

Next  day,  the  13th  Vende"miaire,  Bonaparte  convened 
the  sections  in  front  of  the  church  of  Saint-Roch,  and 
found  himself  elected  General  of  the  Interior. 

Now  he  held  power  which  could  not  be  taken  from 
him.  Yesterday,  destitute  and  without  resources,  he 
was  to-day  master  of  Paris,  and  indeed  almost  of  the 
■entire  nation. 


270  Padame  gzn$-<8tnt. 

His  star,  by  turns  radiant  and  pale,  shed  at  last  a 
clear  beam  -from  above.  It  was  destined  to  be  for 
twenty  years  a  dazzling  beacon-light  throughout 
France. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

YEYETTE. 

Fortune  smiled  suddenly  upon  Bonaparte. 

An  unexpected  and  powerful  upward  sweep  landed 
him  on  the  very  pinnacle. 

Despite  his  military  talent,  already  revealed,  and  the 
praise  he  had  received  from  influential  men,  his  name 
had  been  unknown,  his  situation  precarious. 

Cambon,  the  great  financier  of  the  Convention,  an 
honest  and  high-minded  man,  Michelet's  favorite  hero 
(though  he  is  generally  not  very  tender  toward  the  real 
chiefs  of  the  Revolution),  had  given  a  certificate  in  his 
favor  on  the  occasion  of  the  disturbances  of  Antibes. 
"  We  were,"  he  writes,  "  in  imminent  danger,  when  the 
virtuous  and  valorous  General  Bonaparte,  at  the  head 
of  fifty  grenadiers,  opened  a  way  for  us." 

Freron  declared  that  he  alone  was  capable  of  saving 
the  imperilled  armies  of  the  Republic. 

Barras,  the  corrupt  but  clever  politician,  forgot  him. 

Mariette,  whom  he  had  snatched  from  death  among 
the  traitors  of  Toulon,  and  intimidated  by  the  English, 
gave  no  signs  of  life. 


Pattern;  JfaniJ-iBflw.  271 

Aubry,  the  obtuse  captain  who  had  become  minister 
of  war,  had  dismissed  him  from  the  army. 

At  last  his  dream  of  a  wealthy  marriage,  which  he 
had  twice  tried  to  realize,  first  with  the  Widow  Permon, 
then  with  Desiree  Clary,  had  vanished. 

There  remained  for  him  only  the  chances  of  going  to 
Turkey,  and  organizing  the  Sultan's  Guard,  and  to  this 
end  he  obtained  leave  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety 
under  date  September  15,  1795. 

"General  Bonaparte  is  about  to  leave  for  Constanti- 
nople, with  his  two  aides-de-camp,  to  take  service  in  the 
army  of  the  Sultan,  and  to  give  his  talents  and  his 
knowledge  to  the  restoration  of  the  artiller/  of  that  puis- 
sant empire,  and  to  the  execution  of  such  matters  as 
may  be  ordered  him  by  the  ministers  of  the  Porte.  He 
will  serve  in  the  Sultan's  Guard,  and  be  treated  by  him 
as  one  of  his  generals. 

He  will  be  accompanied  by  Citizens  Junot  and  Henri 
Livrat,  as  aides,  Captains  Serge's  and  Billaund  de  Villar- 
ceau  as  chiefs  of  artillery  detachments.  Blaise  de 
Villeneuve,  as  captain  of  constructive  corps,  Bourgeois 
and  La  Chasse,  as  first  lieutenants  of  artillery,  and 
Maissonet  and  Schneid,  as  sergeants." 

But  the  insurrection  of  the  13th  VendSmiaire  had 
broken  out. 

All  the  world  had  lost  its.  head,  except  he  who  was 
destined  to  save  the  Convention  and  re-establish  public- 
order. 

Barras,  whom  the  memory  of  the  9th  Thermidor  made 
careful  in  his  choice  of  colleagues,  was  possessed  of  all 


272  Patlnme  g>M#-<&tnt. 

powers,  and  sought  about  him  for  a  general  capable  of 
commanding  the  troops  on.that  day,  when  every  man 
feared  for  his  life. 

He  spoke  for  Bonaparte. 

Carnot  had  proposed  to  give  the  command  to  Brune. 
Barras  answered  that  a  man  was  needed  who  under- 
stood artillery.  Freron,  who  was  in  love  with  Pauline 
Bonaparte  and  was  about  to  ask  for  her  hand,  favored 
Bonaparte. 

"  I  give  you  three  minutes  to  consider,"  said  Barras. 

During  those  three  minutes  Bonaparte's  thoughts 
travelled  with  the  rapidity  and  clearness  of  a  celestial 
sphere. 

He  feared  in  accepting  to  assume  the  heavy  respon- 
sibility, frequently  unjust,  always  terrible,  of  those  who 
undertake  a  necessary  repression.  To  wipe  out  the 
sections'  representatives  might  mean  to  consign  his 
name  to  the  eternal  execration  of  posterity.  He  had 
refused  to  command  a  regiment  against  the  Vendeans  ; 
should  he  take  upon  himself  a  march  against  Paris  ? 
He  was  not  made  for  civil  wars.  Besides,  he  was  really 
in  sympathy  with  the  sectionists.  These  insurgents 
wanted  to  put  out  the  incapable  and  powerless,  who 
were  anxious  to  retain  the  power,  and  to  preserve  for 
the  people  the  two  chosen  houses  of  national  represen- 
tation. If  he  failed,  he  would  be  lost,  given  over  to 
the  vengeance  of  the  sectionists  of  Paris.  Victorious, 
he  must  needs  bathe  his  sword  in  French  blood,  and 
become,  as  he  told  himself,  the  scapegoat  of  the  crimes 
of  the  Revolution,  to  which  he  was  a  stranger. 


Pattern*  $m$-<&tM.  273 

But  his  thoughts,  revolving  with  lightning  rapidity, 
showed  him  the  consequences  of  refusal.  If  the  Con- 
vention were  dispersed  by  force,  what  would  become 
of  the  victories  of  the  Revolution  ?  The  actions  of 
Valmy,  of  Jemmapes,  of  Toulon,  of  Col  di  Tende,  the 
glorious  successes  of  the  armies  of  Sombre-et-Meuse, 
of  Italy,  would  be  useless  ;  reaction,  treason  would  ef- 
face it  all.  The  defeat  of  the  Convention  would  mean 
the  retreat  of  the  Revolution,  the  oppression  of  France. 
With  the  Austrians  at  Strasbourg  and  the  English  at 
Brest,  the  principles  and  the  liberties  of  the  Republic, 
as  well  as  its  conquests,  would  be  submerged.  The 
duty  of  a  good  citizen  was  to  stand  by  the  Convention, 
despite  its  faults,  and  since  he  could  draw  and  wield 
a  sword  he  would  do  well  to  defend  the  established 
government,  despite  the  incapacity  of  those  who  ad- 
ministered it. 

So,  lifting  his  head,  he  answered  Barras. 

"  I  accept,  but  I  warn  you  that,  my  sword  once  drawn, 
I  shall  not  return  it  to  its  scabbard  until  order  is  fully 
established." 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Next  day  the 
victory  of  the  Convention  was  definitive,  and  Barras 
said  to  the  court : 

*•  I  desire  to  call  the  attention  of  the  National  Con- 
vention to  General  Bonaparte.  It  is  to  him  and  to  his 
wisdom  that  we  owe  the  defence  of  this  spot,  around 
which  he  distributed  his  guards  with  such  unusual 
ability.     I  demand    that  the  Convention  confirm   the 

18 


274  Padattw  £»tt0-(#m. 

nomination  of  Bonaparte  as  General-in-Command  of 
the  Army  of  the  Interior," 

Some  days  later,  Barras  laid  down  his  commission, 
and  Bonaparte  remained  alone  in  command. 

It  was  high  time.  He  had  no  longer  any  shoes  on 
his  feet,  and  his  coat  only  half  protected  him. 

Some  days  prior,  he  had  made  bold  to  present  him- 
self to  Madame  Tallien. 

That  seductive  and  perverse  creature,  The"r£zea 
Cabarrus,  who  had  armed  the  versatile  and  discreet 
Tallien  even  from  the  prison,  on  the  9th  Thermidor, 
now  governed  Barras,  a  personage  of  high  rank. 

To  obtain  the  favor  of  Barras,  and  find  some  em- 
ployment, Bonaparte,  at  the  end  of  his  resources, 
having  neither  money,  nor  fine  clothes,  had  gone  to  a 
soiree  at  at  the  house  of  the  fair  courtesan. 

It  required  not  only  energy  but  force  of  character  to 
dare  to  present  himself  in  his  poor  attire,  amid  elegant 
ladies,  powdered  dandies,  and  decorated  generals. 
Nevertheless,  Bonaparte  set  forth. 

He  wore  his  long  hair,  parted  on  both  sides  of  his 
forehead,  unpowdered — for  the  reason  that  wig- 
makers  must  needs  be  paid  for  their  services,  and  he 
had  not  the  wherewith  to  pay  them.  His  boots  held 
together  only  by  miraculous  effort ;  the  cracks  care- 
fully inked.  The  uniform  he  wore  was  the  same  he 
had  worn  in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  and  though 
glorious,  it  was,  also,  threadbare — with  a  simple  silken 
braid  to  substitute,  for  economy's  sake,  the  embroidery 
of  rank. 


Padame  JfaajMJe**.  275 

He  appeared  so  shabby  to  the  triumphant  lady,  that 
she,  gave  him,  on  the  spot,  a  letter  to  M.  Lefeuve,  of 
the  17th  Division  of  Paris,  to  the  effect  that  he  should 
obtain  for  him  (in  conformity  with  the  decree,  which 
gave  every  officer,  in  activity,  a  uniform),  enough  cloth 
for  a  new  suit.  Bonaparte  was  not  in  active  service 
and  had  really  no  right  to  this,  but  the  protection  of 
Madame  Tallien  overruled  any  decree  ;  the  poor,  un- 
salaried officer  had  cloth  for  his  new  coat,  and  could 
appear  on  the  13th  Vend^miaire,  before  the  Convention — 
transfixed  with  fear  and  then  exuberant  with  joy,  as  a 
saviour — at  least  properly  clad. 

Bonaparte's  metamorphosis  was  as  sudden  as  that 
of  the  princesses  of  fairy  tales,  whose  palaces  rise  from 
pumpkins,  and  everything  around  him  changed. 

He  took  his  place  at  headquarters,  in  the  Rue  des 
Capuchines.  Junot  and  Lemarois  were  near  him.  His 
uncle  was  called  to  Paris  as  his  secretary,  He  used 
his  first  money  for  the  relief  of  his  family.  He  sent 
fifty  thousand  francs  to  his  mother,  content  to  buy 
himself  a  new  pair  of  boots,  and  to  have  gold  em- 
broidery put  upon  the  coat  he  had  received  through 
Madame  Tallien's  intervention. 

He  hastened  to  use  his  influence  on  behalf  of  his 
brothers.  Louis  he  took  as  aide,  with  a  captain's  com- 
mission, and  asked  a  consulship  for  Joseph.  He  sent 
money  to  the  college  where  Jerome  was,  to  pay  the 
arrears,  and  ordering  that  he  should  receive  extra  in- 
struction in  drawing  and  music. 

Assured  of  the  fate  of  his  family,  sure  of  his  own 


276  padam*  ^attf-Gfott*. 

future,  now  a  general,  in  position  to  choose  an  advan- 
tageous command — for  the  Convention  refused  noth- 
ing to  its  saviour,  and  the  Directory,  which  was  about 
to  enter  on  its  duties,  could  not  dispense  with  his  sword. 
At  this  auspicious  moment  he  returned  to  his  matrimo- 
nial ideas. 

A  rich  marriage,  with  a  woman  who  could  give  him 
fortune,  influence,  social  standing,  effacing  the  traces  of 
early  straitened  circumstances,  helping  him  to  uphold 
his  new  position  ;  that  was  what  he  desired. 

But  Bonaparte,  the  imperturbable  mathematician,  the 
profound  and  logical  thinker,  had  yet  to  learn,  as  a 
young  man,  the  domination  of  a  turbulent  passion  which 
rules  the  actions  of  men,  often  for  their  own  undoing. 

He  became  a  lover. 

It  was  at  Madame  Tallien's,  where  the  general  went 
to  express  his  thanks  for  the  help  given  to  the  destitute- 
officer  of  the  previous  month,  that  Bonaparte  met  the 
widow  Beauharnais. 

She  was  a  Creole  from  the  Antilles  ;  one  of  those  ad- 
venturesses who  pass  in  society,  protected  by  their 
foreign  speech  and  ways,  and  admitted  into  society  as 
being  strangers.  They  are  seductive,  coming  from 
afar.  The  widow  was  called  Marie-Joseph-Rose 
Tascher  de  la  Pagerie.  She  was  born  June  23,  1763, 
in  the  parish  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Purification,  at  Mar- 
tinique. Her  father  cultivated  the  plantations  left  him 
by  his  progenitors,  who  came,  in  1726,  as  colonists.  A 
former  captain  of  dragoons,  chevalier  of  St.  Louis  and 
page  to  the  Dauphiness,  he  had  little  money  and  was 


Pattame  gm$-<5tnt.  277 

anxious  to  see  his  eldest  daughters  well  married — for 
Josephine  had  two  sisters,  Catherine-Marie-De'sire'e,  and 
Marie-Francoise. 

A  certain  Madame  Renaudin,  aunt  to  the  young  girl, 
found  the  coveted  husband.  She  had  him  in  her  hand  ; 
the  younger  son  of  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  Gov- 
ernor of  \Vindward  Islands. 

The  marriage  was  decided  from  afar,  for  young 
Beauharnais  was  in  France,  and  his  fiance'e  set  sail  in 
September,  1779.  She  came  to  Bordeaux,  and,  some  time 
after,  married  the  Viscount  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais, 
who,  when  he  married,  was  made  captain  in  the  La 
Sarre  regiment.  He  was  eighteen  years  old  ;  she  six- 
teen. Bonaparte,  at  the  time  when  the  future  empress 
was  married,  was  ten  years  old,  and  entering  the 
School  of  Brienne. 

In  the  Rue  Thevenot,  in  Paris,  the  couple  lodged. 
On  September  2,  1 780,  was  born  Eugene,  the  future 
prince  viceroy  of  Italy.  The  household  did  not  remain 
long  united.  Soon  the  young  count  left  his  wife  to 
serve  in  America  under  Bouille's  orders.  The  desire 
to  help  on  American  independence,  and  to  immortalize 
himself  along  with  Lafayette  and  Rochambepu  act- 
uated the  young  husband  less  than  his  wish  to  escape 
a  coquettish  wife,  frivolous  in  the  extreme,  and  terribly 
extravagant.  So,  during  his  absence,  April  10,  1788, 
was  born  the  future  Queen  Hortense,  the  mother  of 
Napoleon  III. 

At  that  time,  Josephine  had  given  her  husband  no 
cause  for  complaint.     The  latter,  married  too  young. 


278  Pattam*  $nn0-<#*tt*. 

gave  himself  up  to  new  loves  and  passing  distractions. 
His  departure  did  not  grieve  his  wife.  It  gave  her  a 
liberty  she  was  glad  to  obtain. 

She  took  up,  then,  a  scarcely  regular  life,  having  lovers, 
debts,  heights  and  depths.  She  lived  on  the  edge  of 
society.  The  court  was  not  forbidden  her,  for  the 
Beauharnais  were  of  the  Orleans  nobility,  but  it  was 
difficult  for  her  to  enter.  She  had  only  her  Aunt  Re- 
naudin  to  present  her,  and  that  lady's  equivocal  position 
kept  her  from  Versailles. 

M.  de  Beauharnais,  returning  to  France,  desired  a 
separation.  The  court  granted  it,  but  as  the  wrongs 
were  on  both  sides,  Josephine  was  allowed  ten  thousand 
livres  alimony.  Now  she  decided  to  visit  her  home.  She 
returned  to  Martinique,  and  came  back,  in  1791,  in  com- 
pany with  a  gallant  marine  officer,  M.  Scipio  de  Roure. 

She  found  her  husband  in  a  high  station.  The  Vis- 
count de  Beauharnais,  deputy  of  the  nobility,  had  be- 
come an  influential  member  of  the  Constituency.  To  him 
belongs  the  honor  of  having  proposed,  on  that  famous 
night  of  August  4th,  the  admissibility  of  all  citizens  in 
employments  civil,  military,  and  ecclesiastic,  and  the 
equality  of  taxes  for  all  classes  of  citizens  ;  the  aboli- 
tion, consequently,  of  the  old  order  in  two  ways.  He 
had  been  elected  several  times  as  president  of  the  Na- 
tional Assembly — and  received,  in  his  home  on  the 
Rue  de  la  University,  a  great  number  of  deputies,  of 
whom  he  was  the  head. 

Josephine,  ambitious  and  anxious  to  preside  over  a 
political    salon,    frequented  by   all   those    whom    the 


Padame  gm$-$tnt.  279 

Assembly  counted  as  great  men,  desired  to  be  recon- 
ciled to  her  husband.  She  seemed  humble,  sweet, 
repentant, — she  succeeded.  For  some  time  she  reigned 
as  a  queen  in  the  house  on  the  Rue  de  I'Universite". 

But  the  days  grew  dark.  The  Terror  had  closed  the 
salons.  Beauharnais  was  in  the  army,  and  as  General- 
in-chief*  of  the  army  oi  the  Rhine,  he  conducted  the 
siege  of  Mayence.  He  was  arrested,  in  1794.  Though  a 
republican  and  a  patriot,  General  Beauharnais  could 
not  have  connived  with  traitors.  Yet,  despite  his 
brother's  presence  and  rank  as  a  staff-officer,  he  was 
guillotined  on  the  5th  Thermidor.  Four  days  later, 
the  prisons  were  opened  and  he  would  have  been 
saved. 

His  death  was  due  to  a  mistake,  and  to  the  haste 
with  which,  at  that  terrible  period,  they  executed  sus- 
pected criminals. 

Beauharnais  should  stand  blameless,  though  his 
head  rolled  among  those  of  traitors,  conspirators,  and 
enemies  of  the  nation.  He  was  the  victim  of  unjust 
denunciations.  He  himself  declared  that  the  Revolu- 
tion was  not  responsible  for  his  death. 

Before  going  to  the  scaffold,  in  a  letter  worthy  of  an 
ancient  philosopher,  Beauharnais  expressed  his  fear 
that  posterity  would  consider  him  a  "bad  citizen," 
seeing  his  corpse  among  those  traitors  whom  the  law 
punished.  "  Strive  to  redeem  my  memory,"  he  wrote 
to  his  wife  in  that  supreme  hour  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  death  summons.  "  Prove  that  the  life  I 
consecrated   to   the    service    of   my   country,    to   the 


280  Padam*  %m$-(&tn(. 

triumph  of  liberty  and  equality,  should,  in  the  eye  of 
the  people,  be  free  from  the  odious  calumnies  which 
placed  me  among  the  suspected.  But  this  work  must 
be  left  till  later  ;  for,  in  revolutionary  time,  a  great 
people  who  are  in  earnest  must  sometimes  be  unjust, 
though  they  seek  later  to  consign  to  oblivion  the 
wretches  who  cause  the  death  of  the  innocent."' 

The  noble  citizen  concluded  by  recommending  his 
young  wife  to. console  herself  with  the  education  of  her 
children,  teaching  them  that  it  was  by  force  of  civic  law 
that  his  death  was  accomplished,  and  that  they  must 
forget  it  and  the  injustice." 

How  admirable  in  character  was  this  hero,  who, 
coming  from  the  aristocracy,  became  a  defender  of  the 
people,  fought  feudalism,  and  proclaimed  first — at  an 
epoch  when  that  law  of  modern  society  seemed  a 
heresy,  an  anarchistic  Utopianism,  equality  of  taxation, 
and  the  admission  of  nobles,  officers  of  the  army,  and 
employees  in  the  magistracy  into  the  State  departments  ; 
and  who,  after  presiding  over  the  greatest  of  French  as- 
semblies, and  commanding  the  army  of  the  Rhine,  died 
on  the  scaffold,  a  victim  of  wild  passions,  yet  submitting 
to  the  decree  of  a  cruel  and  unjust  accusation  ;  who  on 
the  threshold  of  death,  had  but  one  fear,  that  it  should 
be  believed  that  he  had  merited  his  ignominy  !  Alex- 
andre de  Beauharnais  has  a  right  to  a  place  in  the 
Revolutionary  Pantheon,  among  the  bloody  martyrs  of 
the  new  evangel — the  Pantheon  of  equality  where 
are  found  together  judges  and  judged,  Danton  beside 
St.  Just,  and  Vergniaud  with  Couthon  and  Soubrany. 


P^dame  gmi$-(&ent.  281 

Josephine  was  decidedly  favored  in  marriage.  Beau- 
harnais  and  Bonaparte,  what  woman  would  have 
been  other  than  proud  of  two  such  husbands  ?  Who 
would  not  have  loved,  adored  them  ?  She  deceived 
them,  playing  with  the  officers  and  dandies  whom  the 
chances  of  society  presented,  and  whom  she  was 
pleased  to  see  at  her  feet. 

The  Revolution  made  of  Josephine,  who  had  been  a 
social  outcast,  a  great  lady.  Her  husband's  name 
served  to  place  her  above  the  women  of  the  old  court 
who  had  escaped  the  Terror.  In  prison  she  had 
learned  to  know  some  of  the  venerable  survivors  of  the 
old  aristocracy  ;  and  she  also  knew  La  Cabarrus. 

It  was  to  the  latter's  house,  where  she  sat  enthroned 
as  Tallien's  wife  and  Barras's  mistress,  that  Josephine 
came,  and  one  day  met  the  slim  and  silent  young  con- 
queror. 

Bonaparte  was  now  become  the  fashion.  Everybody 
spoke  of  the  young  general  who  would  achieve  glory  at 
one  bound.  The  salons  disputed  the  privilege  of 
having  him.  Women  smiled  upon  him.  But  he 
passed  them,  grave,  indifferent,  sovereign  already. 

The  widow  Beauharnais,  with  her  Creole  non- 
chalance, her  grave  manner,  her  charms  already  on 
the  wane,  transfixed  this  cold  young  man  with  her  first 
glance. 

In  that  first  meeting  at  Madame  Tallien's,  Bonaparte 
felt  himself  attracted,  captured.  He  felt  himself  dragged 
into  the  circle  of  this  dark  daughter  of  the  isles,  and, 
charmed,  he  submitted. 


282  gttadam*  gm$-(8tnc. 

She  was  not  beautiful.  Her  future  brother-in-law, 
Lucien  Bonaparte,  gives 'us  his  impression  of  her: 

"  She  was  very  languid,  and  had  no  feature  one  could 
call  beautiful,  though  with  the  Creole  suggestions  in  the 
soft  curves  of  her  slight,  short  figure  ;  a  face,  it  is  true, 
without  natural  freshness,  to  which  the  colors  of  her 
toilet  lent  a  lustre  and  brilliancy  ;  everything  indicated 
the  remains  of  her  early  youth,  as  the  painter,  Gerard, 
has  faithfully  shown  in  his  portraits  of  the  First  Con- 
sul's wife.  In  the  brilliant  soirees  of  the  Directory,  to 
which  Barras  introduced  me,  she  seemed  to  me  no 
longer  young,  and  inferior  to  the  beauties  who  generally 
composed  the  court  of  the  voluptuous  director,  and 
of  whom  the  fair  Tallien  was  the  veritable  Calypso." 

This  unflattering  portrait  seems  in  the  main  to  have 
been  correct. 

Josephine  was  over  thirty-two  years  of  age.  She  was 
the  mother  of  two  children,  and  her  lively  existence, 
her  excitements,  her  travels,  the  disruption  of  her  family 
life,  her  passing  loves,  had  certainly  hastened  the  march 
of  time. 

Nevertheless,  she  vanquished  the  victor  at  their  first 
meeting.  Bonaparte  left  the  Talliens  his  heart  throb- 
bing, his  eyes  bright,  filled  with  a  fervor  which  for 
once  was  not  that  of  glory,  tormented  by  a  pang  not 
that  of  hunger  ;  forgetting  even  his  family  and  disdain- 
ing the  conquest  of  the  world,  of  which  he  dreamed  in 
the  lonely  hours  of  his  youth — to  think  only  of  Yeyette, 
as  she  had  told  him  her  friends  called  her. 


gttadame  £m$-(&m.  283. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MADAME     BONAPARTE. 

Bonaparte — whose  whole  youth  had  been  chaste, 
as  it  had  been  laborious,  who  knew  no  debauches 
save  mental  ones,  no  intoxication  save  that  of  intellect 
— became  Yeyette's  importunate  lover. 

It  is  certain  that  Josephine  never  merited  this  excess 
of  love.  But  the  young  general  was  in  a  psychological 
condition  in  which  his  heart  first  evidenced  its  contact 
with  a  woman  corresponding  almost  exactly  with  the 
type,  the  model,  his  early  dreams  and  waking  thoughts 
had  long  invoked. 

Josephine  was  not  one  of  those  clever  blue-stockings 
of  whom  he  had  ever  had  a  horror.  She  never  let  fly 
sharp  sallies  or  malicious  epigrams.  She  pleased  the 
general  most  by  seeming  enormously  interested  in  his 
military  conquests,  and  hearing  him  talk  of  strategy. 

She  had,  in  his  eyes,  an  incomparable  prestige.  Did 
she  not  belong  to  the  old  aristocracy  ?  For  the  little 
Corsican  gentleman,  brought  up  on  a  miserable  domain, 
and  who  had  never  seen  women  elegantly  dressed, 
breathing  the  perfume  of  the  ancient  court,  this- 
viscountess  seemed  the  personification  of  feminine 
beauty  allied  to  grandeur.  The  prestige  of  nobility, 
now  that   the  Terror  was  passed,   revived   in  all  its 


284  ptadanw  gM$-(&tnt, 

lustre.  The  guillotine  had  put  out  of  the  way  all  the 
frayed  glitter  of  the  old  school ;  and  from  the  new  wave 
of  blood  the  nobility  took  fresh  color  and  new  vigor. 
The  hour  and  the  scene  recalled  forcibly  the  words  of 
the  old  dowager  ;  a  "  plebeian,  a  marquise,  is  never  over 
thirty."  The  attraction  of  nobility,  the  prestige  of 
title,  name,  and  rank,  despite  our  new  social  order, 
seemed  to  be  perpetual.  Does  not  the  merchant  feel 
proud  of  his  titled  clientele  ?  Do  not  hotel-keepers 
open  wide  the  doors  of  their  rooms,  even  of  their  strong- 
boxes, to  the  gallant  man  with  a  title  who  may  prove 
but  a  common  thief?  And  in  the  lightness  of  their 
love-vows,  do  not  the  Don  Juans  iorm  their  admira- 
tions and  desires  at  sight  of  a  pretty  girl,  by  that  once 
respectful  exclamation,  "  I  should  kiss  her  as  if  she 
were  a  queen  !  " 

Bonaparte,  whose  military  genius  was  joined  to  ab- 
solute ignorance  of  the  world's  ways,  could  not  dis- 
tinguish between  a  really  great  lady,  such  as  he  had 
never  seen,  and  that  careless  widow,  with  her  soft 
glances  and  languorous  eyes,  who  spoke  to  him  in  sim- 
ple and  sincere  praise  of  his  military  skill. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  awakening  passion,  however 
reasonable  or  unreasonable  it  be,  starts  always  with  a 
germ,  a  motor-unit,  a  molecule — so  the  embryologists 
would  claim.  With  one  it  is  the  need  to  love,  the  sex 
which  attracts  ;  another  succumbs  to  the  law  of  attrac- 
tion and  sociability,  fleeing  from  isolation,  and  ennui 
which  holds  him  in  its  tentacles.  For  such  a  man 
love  is  as  a  flower  which   springs    in  a  ready  soil ; 


ittadam*  gm$-(&tnt.  285 

then,  for  certain  men,  whose  thought  is  objective,  for 
imaginative  creatures,  such  as  construct  castles  in 
Spain,  the  lovers  of  fanciful  forms  appearing  on 
dream-shores,  for  these,  love  is  a  realized  concept,  an 
idea  incarnate,  a  thought  condensed  to  matter — for 
such,  and  Napoleon  was  one  of  them,  poets  who  never 
wrote  a  line,  woman  is  invoked  as  a  spirit, — she  comes 
out  of  the  unknown  as  a  statue  in  the  sculptor's  hand 
from  the  shapeless  block  ;  almost  as  the  fair  Eve  ap- 
peared beside  the  first  lover. 

Napoleor  loved,  in  Josephine,  an  ideal  woman. 

He  did  not  find  in  her  the  features,  the  eyes,  nose, 
and  mouth  of  his  ideal.  With  her  dusky  complexion, 
with  its  tropical  richness,  suggesting  out-door  life, 
and  ease,  wherein  negresses  watched  her  soft  slumbers, 
fanning  her  with  great  ostrich  plumes,  with  her  deep 
blue  eyes,  and  her  chestnut  hair,  confined  with  bands 
of  gold,  Yeyette  no  doubt  was  not  exactly  the  type  of 
his  imagination. 

But  she  personified  admirably  the  ideal  woman,  for 
whom  he  had  waited  and  hoped,  and  whom  he  now 
wished  to  possess. 

His  desire  for  the  widow  Permon,  who  was  old 
enough  to  be  his  mother,  proved  that  age  was  to  him 
only  a  secondary  consideration.  Josephine's  maturity 
was,  doubtless,  an  extra  attraction  to  the  rude  soldier, 
the  cold  and  pitiless  politician.  With  women,  Bona- 
parte always  was  short  and  stormy. 

His  useless  descent  upon  the  soap-merchant  of  Mar- 
seilles, for  the  hand  of  Desire"e,  Madame  Joseph  Bona- 


286  Padame  JtaoMlttt. 

parte's  sister,  proved  that  he  was  not  quite  indifferent 
to  the  question  of  the  dowry. 

He  wanted  a  wife  who  could  rule  a  salon,  who  would 
bring  him,  with  ease,  a  home,  friends,  and  established 
social  rank.  Josephine,  for  him,  represented  all  these 
things.  Like  the  widow  Permon,  she  was  of  the  aris- 
tocracy, and,  moreover,  she  was,  like  Desiree  Clary, 
rich.       At  least  Bonaparte  thought  so. 

After  the  meeting  at  Tallien's,  he  was  invited  to  the 
little  house  at  No.  6,  Rue  de  Chantereine,  and  was 
dazzled  by  what  he  took  for  the  luxury  of  a  real  vis- 
countess. 

The  lodgings  in  the  Rue  Chantereine  were  modest, 
and  furnished  with  little  expense.  Lack  of  money  was 
everywhere  evident.  With  Gauthier,  her  gardener, 
coachman,  and  footman,  and  Mademoiselle  Compoint, 
her  maid,  a  person  very  intimate  with  Josephine, 
dressed  almost  as  well  as  her  mistress,  and  treated  as 
a  friend,  a  sister — with  these  Josephine  succeeded  in 
dazzling  Bonaparte,  who  knew  nothing  of  luxury,  and 
was,  as  a  young  officer,  invited  by  a  colonel's  lady. 

The  H6tel  de  Chantereine,  let  to  the  Citizeness  Talma, 
for  four  thousand  livres,  was  the  lodging-place  of  the 
tinseled  Bohemian.  There  was  no  wine  in  its  cellars,  no 
wood  in  its  shed,  but  a  coach  with  two  lean  horses 
stood,  in  full  view,  at  the  entrance.  Josephine,  a  prac- 
tised coquette,  kept  up  an  apparent  luxury.  Her 
dresses  were  many,  her  undergarments  few.  Her  light,, 
airy,  muslin-gowns,  produced  a  charming  effect  and 
cost  very  little. 


pata*  jSw-Cfotw.  287 

Bonaparte  was  captivated  at  once.  He  left  the  bat- 
tered little  house,  his  head  turned,  his  senses  numbed. 
He  now  wanted  Josephine,  as  wife. 

He  judged  her  exterior  only, — her  position  in  the 
world,  her  origin,  her  affinities,  her  circle,  he  did  not 
consider, — as  wife,  she  would  satisfy  him  wholly.  Noth- 
ing could  ever  stand  between  him  and  his  will,  shot  like 
a  shell  from  a  cannon. 

But  Josephine  hesitated.  Though  her  own  position 
was  precarious,  she  questioned  if  Bonaparte's  good  for- 
tune, would  last.  After  all,  for  her,  he  was  but  a  new 
man,  thanks  to  Barras's  friendship.  Without  Barras's 
voice,  Carnot's  men,  Brune  or  Verdieres,  would  have 
had  charge  of  defending  the  Convention  on  the  13th 
Vende"miaire.  Would  Barras  continue  to  interest  him- 
self in  the  young  adventurer  ?  Would  not  the  all-pow- 
erful Directory  look  askance  on  this  marriage  ? 

Josephine  resolved  to  go  and  consult  the  sensual  and 
cynical  potentate. 

So,  one  night,  she  had  her  horses  brought,  and  went 
to  the  Luxembourg,  to  the  Citizen  Barras,  member  of 
the  Directory. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AT   BARRAS'S. 

There  was  a  fete  at  the  Luxembourg  when  Josephine 
was  announced. 

She  was  carefully  dressed  in  the  new  style,  in  a  dress 


288  §Radam*  gm\$-(8tnt. 

like  Flora's,  floating,  vaporous,  light,  almost  transpar- 
ent, which  let  the  dusky  ivory  of  her  flesh  shimmer 
through  its  soft  tissue. 

It  was  necessary,  not  only  to  please  Barras,  but  to 
eclipse  all  the  beauties  who  bloomed  in  rose,  white  and 
blue,  as  Greeks  or  Romans,  as  Dianas  or  Terpsichores,. 
as  any  of  the  Olympics,  there  in  the  salons  of  Barras, 

Whether  she  refused  or  accepted  General  Bonaparte, 
Josephine  proposed  to  maintain  her  reputation  as  a 
fashionable,  popular  lady  of  the  court,  and  to  prove 
that  she  had  not  renounced  her  sovereignty  of  graces. 
At  bottom,  this  trip  which  she  made,  this  counsel 
and  sanction  she  sought  of  the  brilliant  director,  was 
only  a  pretext  to  show  she  was  asked,  desired,  loved,  by 
a  man,  doubtless  somewhat  new,  but  of  whom  the 
world  seemed  to  foresee  arise,  and  even  to  predict,  a 
great  future. 

She  wanted  to  show  her  rivals  her  lover  Bonaparte, 
as  a  new  ornament,  a  jewel  still  in  the  rough,  but 
very  precious  ;  and  she  was  not  sorry  to  tell  Barras, 
while  pretending  to  consult  him,  that  his  colleague, 
his  second  in  command  on  the  great  day  of  the  13th 
Vende'miaire,  the  man  whose  victorious  sword  would 
weigh  heavier  than  his  parade-sabre  in  the  balance  of 
the  future,  found  her  adorable,  and  did  not  prefer  to 
her  to  some  wicked  woman  with  low  charms. 

Was  it  coquetry,  regret,  or  irony  ?  Josephine  does 
not  figure  in  history  as  a  mistress  of  Barras.  She  was, 
in  reality,  in  the  quiet  rooms,  decorated  with  Pru- 
d'hon's  sylphs  and  diaphanous  nymphs,  an  hour's  queen 


Padam*  gm$-(&tnt,  289 

to  Barras,  the  democratic  pasha,  with  his  brutal  and 
weatherbeaten  face,  and  his  elegant  pretensions  as  a 
member  of  the  Regency. 

No  woman  ever  resisted  this  man,  who  broke  heads 
as  well  as  hearts.  His  life  held  the  record  of  many 
loves.  This  revolutionist  was  a  born  aristocrat,  the 
Count  Paul  de  Barras,  if  you  please.  Southern,  of 
course,  being  borri  at  Fox-Emphoux,  captain  in  the 
royal  army,  member  of  the  convention,  regicide,  presi- 
dent of  the  redoubtable  Assembly,  invested  with  su- 
preme command  on  the  9th  Thermidorand  on  the  13th 
Vend^miaire,  he  had  been  elected  member  of  the 
Directory.  His  colleagues  were  Largvelliere-Lepeaux, 
Reubell,  Letournier,  and  Carnot.  The  last  of  them  all, 
Barras  imposed  on  or  really  governed  the  Directory. 
He  was  tall  and  strong,  and  kept  under  his  solemn 
director's  cloak  the  manners  and  looks  of  a  gay  Don 
Juan  of  the  barracks.  His  hard-working  colleague, 
Letournier,  the  austere  Carnot  and  Reubell,  the  en- 
thusiastic, honest,  but  unornamental  and  deformed 
Larevelltere-Lepeaux, — these  did  not  represent  the  brill- 
iant theatrical  power  which  the  French  of  the  year  III. 
wanted  ;  they  were  tired  of  liberty  ;  regretted  their 
pleasures,  the  carelessness,  the  easy  manners,  and 
pompous  ways  of  the  old  school. 

Barras,  by  his  bearing,  by  the  way  he  carried  his 
head  among  petitioners  of  all  ranks  and  extractions,  by 
the  way  he  lifted  his  hat,  with  its  three  white  feathers, 
by  the  soldierly  carelessness  with  which  he  wore  his 
curved  sword  in  its  silver  scabbard,  personified  admi- 


290  ptadanw  #atti8i-<#etw. 

rably — for  the  mob,  become  servile  once  more,  re- 
established majesty  without  monarchy.  This  Louis 
XIV.  of  the  army  was  a  king  in  the  Republic.  Every 
one  served  him  ;  every  thing,  too  ;  even  his  vices.  His 
mistresses  formed  the  guard  of  his  jovial  power.  He 
gave  great  fetes.  The  people  did  not  dream  of  re- 
proaching this  entertainer  nor  his  entertainments. 
War  and  restraint  were  over  ;  in  all  classes  of  society 
one  rule  seemed  to  hold,  that  which  permitted  people  to 
live  in  peace  and  hold  a  continual  carnival. 

The  guillotine,  the  frightful  street-fights,  the  men  in 
their  red  caps,  the  furies  of  the  guillotine,  the  pro- 
scribed luxury,  the  love  suspected,  the  art  fled  to  the 
stranger, — all  this  was  now  but  a  hideous  nightmare. 
Men  revelled  in  joy,  in  intoxication  ;  took  up  their 
pleasures  so  suddenly  dropped,  even  sat  at  table  beside 
those  who  had  escaped  the  fatal  car.  Dinners,  lawn- 
parties,  wines  drunk  with  gay  companions  and  pretty 
girls  in  low-cut  gowns,  roses  strewed  on  tables  and 
everywhere,  equipages  which  rivalled  the  horses  of 
Pluto,  men  who,  like  Lazarus,  had  actually  risen  from 
the  tomb, — all  these  gave  to  that  strange  period  so 
eventful  a  color  and  a  scope  which  ages  of  time  will 
never  reproduce. 

He  was  the  personification  in  his  follies,  his  passions, 
and  his  force,  of  this  short  period  of  the  Directory, — 
the  voluptuous  but  clever  Barras. 

He  had  re-established  order  in  the  streets,  and 
pleasure  in  society.  Was  it  astonishing  that  women 
raved  about  him  ?     With  all,  he  spent  much  :  he  threw 


gold  on  the  card-table  of  the  Palais-Royal,  and 
scattered  it  by  handfuls  among  the  young  beauties, 
attracted,  like  mercenary  butterflies,  to  that  new  star's 
light.  La  Cabarrus  was  the  prime  favorite.  This  in- 
triguing courtesan,  who  not  needing  him  any  longer, 
repulsed  the  odious  Tallien,  was  not  only  mistress  in 
name,  but  she  really  ruled  Barras.  She  was  the  great 
agent  of  social  corruption.  Her  r6le  was  that  of  a 
magnificent  broker.  She  aided  the  Sybarite  director 
to  bury  the"  Revolution  in  flowers,  and  to  make  a 
drunken  orgy  succeed  to  the  intoxication  of  war.  The 
Revolution,  where  brothers  had  devoured  each  other, 
was  a  feast  of  Atrides.  La  Cabarrus  and  Barras  made 
a  feast  of  Trimalcion. 

A  soiree  at  Barras's  had  all  the  elegance,  the  dis- 
tinction, the  vice,  the  virtue  and  the  glory  of  the 
society  of  the  times.  Young  generals,  old  legislators, 
women  who  wore  locks  of  hair  of  their  betrothed  hus- 
bands, brothers,  or  first  loves,  cut  from  the  dear  heads 
of  their  Samsons,  rich  contractors,  landed  proprietors 
of  yore,  dandies  with  ample  frills,  ladies  laden  with 
jewels,  wise  men,  writers,  Monge,  Laplace,  Volney, 
were  all  found  in  the  halls  of  the  Luxembourg,  glad  to 
be  alive,  anxious  to  retrieve  lost  hours,  careless  of  the 
future,  all  saying  with  a  sceptical  smile,  "  If  this  could 
but  last !  "  In  the  shadow,  Talleyrand,  returned  from 
America,  sneered  at  that  decomposed  and  decompos- 
ing society,  yet  hovered  over  it,  like  a  vulture  over  a 
corpse. 

When  Josephine  sent  word  to  Barras  that  she  de- 


292  §ftadame  gm$-(&tnt, 

sired  to  see  him  particularly,  she  was  led  to  a  small 
room  beside  the  director's  study. 

She  waited  some  moments.  The  partition  was  thin  : 
a  sound  of  voices  came  from  the  neighboring  room  ; 
she  heard  the  end  of  a  discussion. 

"  Why  do  you  suspect  Bonaparte  ? "  said  Barras, 
whose  sonorous  voice  Josephine  recognized  ;  "  he  is  a 
man  pure  as  gold,  such  as  we  need." 

"  I  fear  he  is  ambitious,"  said  the  person  who  was 
talking  with  Barras. 

"  Are  not  you  so,  too,  Carnot  ? "  answered  the 
director.  "  Do  be  frank  ;  you  are  jealous  of  Bonaparte  ; 
the  plans  he  made  for  the  army  of  Italy,  you  destroyed 
them  without  submitting  them  to  the  Directory,  fearing 
the  glory  would  leave  you  in  the  triumph  of  arms  !  " 

"  I  did  not  know  his  plans,"  said  Carnot.  "  I  never 
knew  them.     I  swear  that  is  not  true." 

"  Do  not  raise  that  Rand  !  "  cried  Barras  brutally. 
*«  It  is  red  with  blood  !  " 

"  You  reproach  me,  you,  too,"  said  Carnot  harshly, 
"  for  having  signed  the  death-roils  ?  " 

«'  All  the  death-rolls — yes,  you  signed  them  all  with 
Robespierre " 

"  I  signed  without  reading  them,  as  Robespierre 
signed  my  plans  of  attack  without  casting  his  eyes  upon 
them — we  served  the  Republic,  each  in  his  own  way. 
May  posterity  judge  us  !  " 

"  Go  to,  you  drinker  of  blood  !  "  cried  Barras. 

"  Adieu,  you  who  grow  weak  with  gold,  and  volupt- 
uousness,"  said    Carnot.      "  I  tell  you,   yet  again — I 


fear  the  ambition  of  Bonaparte  ;  but  I  will  not  oppose 
him  as  general  in  Italy  !  After  all,  he  too  was  a  Ter- 
rorist, a  protege"  of  the  Jacobins,  a  regicide  like  you 
and  myself ;  reward  him  as  you  will — but  I  fear  his 
intentions  are  not  as  virtuous  as  you  suppose.  He  did 
not  save  Rome  that  day,  the  13th  Vendemiaire." 

And  the  old  member  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind 
him. 

Barras,  lifting  a  portiere,  came  to  Josephine  smiling, 
and  said,  "What  happy  chance,  fair  viscountess,  draws 
you  aside  from  pleasure  to  surprise  me  so  agreeably 
with  a  private  interview  ?  " 

Barras  was  really  uneasy.  He  had  not  disdained 
to  show  passing  favors  to  the  seductive  creole,  but  he 
never  meant  to  make  lasting  those  relations  which,  on, 
both  sides,  were  only  occasional  and  capricious.  Jose- 
phine, poor,  uninfluential,  alone,  was  happy  to  have 
held  for  a  moment  this  victor,  this  so-called  noble,  gen- 
erous, amiable,  able  to  be  of  service  to  her — though 
not  known  as  her  protector — at  least  if  she  were  care- 
ful. He,  on  his  part,  impatient  to  renew  the  old-style 
ways,  was  flattered  by  this  conquest  of  a  member  of 
the  aristocracy,  this  widow  of  a  president  of  the  Con- 
stituency, general-in-chief  of  the  glorious  army  of  the 
Rhine.  But  there  now  remained  between  them  only 
the  memory  of  a  pleasant  intimacy,  the  savor  of  pas- 
sions l»ng  since  grown  cold. 

Josephine,  a  little  troubled,  confessed  the  object  of 
her  visit. 


294  Padame  ^aug-to*. 

"  Somebody  wants  me  to  marry,  my  dear  Director ; 
what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  would  make  a  man  very  happy.  May 
I  know  who  the  man  is,  whom  you  have  transfixed 
with  those  eyes  ?  " 

"  You  know  him,  Barras  !  It  is  the  General  Ven- 
dgmiaire  !  "  said  Josephine,  smiling. 

"  Bonaparte  ?  A  man  of  promise — an  artilleryman 
of  eminent  ability.  If  you  had  seen  him,  as  I  did,  on 
horseback,  in  the  alley  Dauphin,  turning  his  cannon 
against  the  sectionists  on  the  roads  of  Saint-Roch,  you 
would  know  that  so  brave  a  man  cannot  be  other  than 
an  excellent  husband  !  Oh,  he  is  intrepid  !  I  was  by 
his  side,  and  those  sectionists  kept  up  a  devilish  fire," 
said  Barras,  in  a  low,  even  tone. 

"  He  is  good,"  said  Josephine.  "  He  will  be  a  father 
to  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais's  children,  and  a  husband 
to  his  widow." 

"  That  is  laudable  ;  but  do  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  open  with  you,  Barras  ;  no,  I  do  not  love 
him — love " 

"  Do  you  dislike  him  ?  Lady,  it  would  not  pay  to 
pretend." 

"  I  neither  love  nor  hate  him — I  am  in  a  state  of  inde- 
cision which  I  do  not  like.  Such  a  state  as  the  pious — 
you  know,  in  Martinque,  my  home,  they  are  very  relig- 
ious— find  very  bad  for  the  soul." 

"  One  must  consider  one's  body,  too,  when  it  comes 
to  marriage." 

"  Love  is  a  cult,  too,  Barras.     It  excites  faith ;  one 


Padam*  &m$r($tnt.  295 

must  have  counsels,  and  exhortations  to  believe,  to  be 
fervent — that  is  why  I  ask  yours.  To  make  up  my 
mind  has  ever  been  a  hard  task  for  my  careless  nature 
— I  have  all  my  life  found  it  easier  to  follow  the  bidding 
of  others." 

"  Then,  I  must  tell  you,  marry  the  general  ?  " 

"  Only  advise  me.  I  admire  his  courage.  He  saved 
society  that  13th  Vendemiaire." 

"  He  protected  the  Convention,  put  down  the  insur- 
gents who  wanted  to  overthrow  the  Republic,  and 
gained,  alone,  in  Paris,  a  battle  in  the  streets  worth  all 
the  regular  battles." 

"  He  is  a  superior  man.  I  appreciate  the  extent  of 
his  knowledge  in  all  things  of  which  he  speaks — and 
speaks  well  ;  the  quickness  of  his  mind  makes  him 
understand  another's  thought,  almost  before  it  is 
spoken  ;  but,  I  confess  to  you,  I  am  a  little  frightened 
at  the  empire  he  seems  to  want  to  exercise  over  all 
who  come  within  his  reach." 

"  He  has  a  compelling  eye.  The  first  time  I  saw 
him,"  said  Barras,  gravely,  "  I  was  strangely  struck 
with  his  appearance.  I  saw  a  man,  below  medium 
height  and  very  thin.  He  looked  like  an  ascetic 
escaped  from  his  solitudes  ;  his  hair,  cut  very  strangely, 
hung  round  his  ears,  and  down  to  his  shoulders.  Oh, 
he  is  not  one  of  those  fops  of  the  "jeunesse  dore"e,"  he 
wore  a  long,  straight  coat,  buttoned  to  the  top,  orna- 
mented with  a  meagre  embroidery  of  gold  ;  in  his  hat 
was  a  tricolored  feather.  At  first,  his  face  did  not 
seem  a  fine  one  to  me  ;  but  his  pronounced  features, 


296  padam*  g&n$-(&tnt. 

his  quick  and  fiery  eye,  his  alert  and  animated  move- 
ments, evidenced   an  ardent  spirit ;  his  large  forehead 
showed  him  a  deep  thinker.     He  spoke  little.     He  is  a 
man,  Josephine  ;  a  man  of  honesty  and  valor  who  may 
to-morrow  be  a  hero.     Since  he  wants  you,  take  him. 
It  is  a  friend's  advice  I  give  you — believe  me." 
" Then  you  advise  me  to  marry  him  ?  " 
"  Yes — and  in  time,  you  will  love  him." 
"You  think  so  ?     I  am  a  little  afraid  of  him." 
"  You  are  not  the  only  one.     All  my  colleagues  are, 
too.     Carnot,  a  Terrorist,  a  man  who  drinks  blood,  a 
companion  of  Robespierre,  even  he  detests  him,  because 
he  is  jealous  of  him  and  fears  him." 

" If  he  intimidates  the  directors,  think  what  an  im- 
pression he  makes  on  a  woman." 

"You  will  grow  used  to  it ;  besides,  he  loves  you — > 
you  said  so  ?  " 

"  I  believe  he  is  very  much  in  love  with  me  ;  but, 
Barras — between  friends,  there  can  exist  such  confi- 
dences as  this — having  passed  my  first  youth,  can  I  hope 
to  keep  for  a  long  time  the  general's  impulsive  tender- 
ness, which  is  like  an  access  of  delirium  ?  " 
"  Do  not  fret  about  the  future." 

"But  if,  when  we  are  married,  he  should  cease  to 
love  me,  would  not  his  faithlessness  be  a  reproach  to 
me  ?  He  might  repent  of  his  infatuation.  He  might 
awake  from  his  intoxication.  Would  he  not  regret 
a  more  brilliant  marriage  with  a  younger  woman  ? 
What  should  I  do  then  ?  What  should  I  say  ?  Tears  ? 
Heaven  help  me  from  tears  !  " 


ptadame  gm$-(&tnt.  297 

"  Do  not  foresee  misfortune.  Why  suffer  in  anti- 
cipation ?  Bonaparte  is  devoted  to  high  honor. 
Are  you  superstitious  ?  "He  has  confided  to  me  that 
he  has  a  star,  and  that  he  believes " 

«'  At  Martinique,  a  negro  enchantress,  whose  local 
prophecies  were  all  realized,  told  me  I  should  become 
a  queen.  I  can't  imagine  Bonaparte  a  king,  and  my- 
self sharing  his  throne " 

"  You  may  share  with  him  the  glory  which  crowns- 
the  commander-in-chief  of  the  fairest  army  of  the 
Republic !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  Barras  ? "  said 
Josephine,  surprised,  and  remembering  the  argument 
with  Carnot,  which  she  had  overheard,  and  of  which 
Bonaparte  was  the  object. 

■*  I  mean  that  you  will  be  one  of  the  happiest  of  wo- 
men, as  you  are  one  of  the  fairest  queens  of  beauty  in 
c»ur  Republic,  if  you  marry  Bonaparte  ;  and  as  a  wed- 
ding gift,  I,  your  old  friend,  knowing  the  general  who- 
put  down  the  insurgents  so  promptly,  will  give  you  a 
fair  jewel." 

"Really?  What?  An  agraffe  of  gold  and  dia- 
monds, like  Madame  Tallien's  ?  " 

"  More  than  that — the  command  of  the  army  of 
Italy.  But  I  shall  be  missed  from  the  fete,"  said 
Barras,  enjoying  her  astonishment.  "  Take  my  arm,  and 
let  us  return  to  the  salon.  I  want  to  be  the  first  to  con- 
gratulate Bonaparte  on  his  marriage  and  his  new  com- 
mand." 

And,  with  the  widow  Beauharnais,  speechless  at  the 


298  Padame  gm$-(&tne. 

decision  which  had  been  made  for  her,  and  the  favor 
the  all-powerful  director  meant  to  show  her  future  lord, 
Barras  re-entered  majestically  into  the  halls,  ablaze 
with  light,  flowers  and  women  ;  on  his  arm  was  she 
who  was  soon  to  become  Madame  Bonaparte. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE  SWORD   FROM   THE   PYRAMIDS. 

Bonaparte  was  named,  February  23,  1796,  General 
of  the  Army  of  Italy.  Carnot  had  given  in  to  Barras. 
Reubell's  was  the  only  opposing  voice,  and  his  col- 
leagues overruled  him. 

March  9th,  a  few  days  after  this,  the  marriage  of  the 
general  and  the  widow  Beauharnais  was  celebrated. 

All  this  portion  of  Bonaparte's  life  was  one  fever  of 
love. 

He  literally  adored  Josephine.  Prostrate,  ecstatic, 
absorbed,  like  a  Carmelite  before  a  divine  revelation, 
he  smothered  her  with  caresses,  embraced  her  wildly, 
flung  himself  upon  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms.  Like 
a  barbarian,  pillaging  a  palace,  he  cast  himself  upon 
those  gauzy  draperies,  in  which,  in  memory  of  tropical 
nights,  Josephine  loved  to  array  her  charms.  He 
caught,  tore  even  to  shreds,  all  which  made  an  obstacle 
to  the  impetuosity  of  his  trembling  hands  and  his  eager 
lips.  All  the  exuberance  of  his  exceptional  nature 
flamed  at  the  animal  possession  of  her,  like  a  charge  of 


Padam*  £att0-<8ntf.  299 

cavalry.  He  loved — he  knew  a  woman  on  terms  of 
intimacy  for  the  first  time,  or  almost  the  first,  and 
the  reserve  of  accumulated  passion  burst  with  the  vio- 
lence of  a  river,  long  repressed  when  its  bounds  are 
broken.  In  that  vigorous  expansion,  that  satisfying  of 
youthful  desire,  in  that  double  joy  of  satisfied  self-love, 
and  flattered  vanity,  mingled  the  joy  of  an  end  at- 
tained, of  a  dream  accomplished,  and  amid  these  in- 
toxications Bonaparte  seemed  to  forget  the  way  of  war, 
of  glory,  of  the  power  which  had  hitherto  governed  his 
heart.  He  seemed  a  changed  man.  He  trembled,  he 
talked,  he  laughed,  he  wept.  He  fell,  in  that  possession 
of  Josephine,  into  madness  and  intoxication. 

The  celebration  of  the  marriage  qame — and  soon  an 
end  of  his  honeymoon,  all  too  short. 

Two  days  after  the  official  ceremony  was  over,  he 
started  for  Italy.  He  was  off  on  the  road  to  glory,  and 
could  stop  at  the  inns  of  love  only  in  passing  between 
victories,  until  that  day  when  fate  made  him  stumble 
against  the  dazzling  couch  of  the  Arch-duchess  Marie- 
Louise  of  Austria. 

In  the  marriage  certificate,  Bonaparte  gallantly,  to 
lessen  the  discrepancy  of  age,  made  himself  two  years 
older  ;  and  Josephine,  through  coquetry,  produced  a 
certificate  of  birth,  in  which  she  made  herself  four  years 
younger.  That  foible  of  a  pretty  woman,  desirous  to- 
appear  as  young  as  her  young  husband,  was  destined 
to  have  some  terrible  consequences  for  Josephine,  at 
the  time  of  divorce,  when  the  legality  of  the  procedure 
was  questioned. 


300  §ftaunm*  gm$-<&tnt. 

Bonaparte  was  burning  with  the  fever  of  passion,  as 
he  passed  through  Italy,  where  prodigious  triumphs 
awaited  him. 

He  never  let  a  day  pass  without  addressing  to  his 
Josephine  amorous  epistles,  a  little  emphatic  in  tone, 
which  suggest  the  pomp  of  Saint-Preux  writing  to  Julie. 
Weary  with  travel,  lacking  sleep,  scarcely  descending 
from  his  horse  after  giving  consideration  to  the  position 
of  to-morrow's  battle,  the  young  general,  amid  ever- 
increasing  preoccupation  and  danger,  never  failed  to 
fill  a  sheet  with  loving  words,  witnessing  the  intensity 
of  his  affection,  which  a  courier,  galloping  night  and  day, 
carried  to  Paris,  along  with  the  account  of  battles  won, 
and  captured  standards,  which  were  laid  upon  the 
altar  of  the  country,  in  a  magnificent  ceremony  pre- 
sided over  by  the  directors. 

And  that  feast  of  Victory  which  he  organized  from 
his  tent  pitched  upon  the  plateau  of  Rivoli,  that  day  of 
patriotic  joy  which  he  gave  to  Paris,  when  his  friend 
Junot  presented  himself  before  the  Convention  with  the 
captured  Austrian  standards,  the  idea  came  to  him  to 
start  that  theatrical  scene  in  honor  of  his  Josephine. 

She  was  the  queen  of  France,  that  day,  the  insignif- 
icant and  sensual  Creole.  Before  the  troops,  in  face 
of  all  the  assembled  people,  amid  the  sound  of  cannon 
and  bells,  proclaiming  to  the  city  the  Halleluia  of 
victory,  she  paraded  on  the  arm  of  Junot,  in  whom  the 
people  hailed  the  representative,  friend,  and  companion 
of  that  hero  whose  name  soared  to  the  sky,  shouted  by 
a  hundred  thousand  voices. 


pad»mc  gnn$-(&ent.  301 

Carnot,  at  the  centre  of  the  altar  in  the  Champ  de 
Mars,  pronounced  a  harangue  in  which  he  compared 
the  young  victor  to  Epaminondas,  and  to  Miltiades  ; 
Lebrun,  the  poet,  led  a  chorus  who  sang — 

Intoxication  comes  from  glory,  as  from  wine. 

Our  laurels  won,  great  Bacchus  stands  above. 
So  drink  to  Victory  divine, 

The  Frenchman's  faithful  love. 

Thus  did  all  Paris  do  honor  to  the  Citizeness  Bona- 
parte and  her  absent  husband,  who,  giving  the  order  to 
march  upon  Mantua  and  take  it,  was  about  to  achieve 
another  triumph. 

Josephine,  the  very  evening  of  that  apotheosis  where 
she  had  figured  as  goddess,  having  dismissed  a  young 
actor  who  had  attended  her  for  some  hours,  spent  her 
time  with  a  handsome  second-lieutenant  of  hussars,  a 
M.  Charles,  to  whom  she  gave  that  which  money- 
lenders and  merchants  had  left  her  of  the  money  Bona- 
parte had  sent  her.  That  was  her  sort  of  gratitude  to 
the  army. 

Josephine  not  only  deceived  her  young  husband,  who 
was  so  ardent,  so  glorious,  so  much  coveted  by  all 
women,  and  whom  she  did  not  even  love,  but  she  did 
not  even  pretend  to  have  for  him  that  regard  which 
conventionality  demands.  She  had  long  refused  to  join 
Bonaparte  in  Italy,  where  he  ardently  desired  her 
presence.  Bonaparte,  his  brain  excited  by  privation,  at 
last  became  almost  foolish  ;  he  talked  of  giving  up  his 
command,  of  laying   down  his  commission,  so  as  to 


302  Padatne  gm$-<3tnt. 

return  to  Paris,  to  be  near  his  Josephine,  if  she  did  not 
come  to  him. 

At  length  she  consented  to  leave  Paris,  which  she 
loved,  and  to  rejoin  him.  Later,  in  the  course  of 
this  tale,  we  will  recount  Napoleon's  divorce,  we 
will  return  to  his  queen,  of  whom  poets,  dramatists, 
novelists,  have  written  so  pityingly  as  to  deceive  pos- 
terity. 

Napoleon  was  not  betrayed  by  the  marshals  whom 
he  had  loaded  with  honors  and  wealth.  The  two 
women  whom  he  called  to  share  the  glory  of  his  name 
were  two  infamous  wretches  ;  yes,  even  that  bestial 
daughter  of  emperors,  that  Marie-Louise,  was  she  not 
more  excusable  ?  She  was  not  one  of  the  members  of 
the  degenerate  period  of  the  Directory,  and  one  can- 
not expect  that  she  should  have  so  fully  understood 
the  crowned  soldier,  who  conquered  her,  sword  in 
hand,  and  entered  her  chamber  as  a  vanquished  capital. 

After  the  Italian  campaign  and  the  treaty  of  Campo- 
Formio,  Bonaparte,  victor  and  peacemaker,  began  ta 
dream  again  of  the  East. 

It  was  not  now  the  prick  of  poverty,  or  of  ambition, 
that  spurred  him,  nor  yet  the  desire  of  an  ardent  wife 
eager  for  his  advancement,  who  would  bring  him  his 
desires.  The  East  was  not  only  a  field  for  conquest 
and  glory,  in  this  reawakened  dream.  It  was  also  a 
haven — a  resting-place. 

Returning  to  Paris  December  5,  1797,  after  the 
ratification  of  the  treaty  of  Campo  Formio,  and  the 
signing  of  the  return  of  Mayence  and  Manheim   ta 


Padam*  J>att$-($etw.  303 

France  (that  is,  the  Rhineland),  he  soon  learned,  in 
his  little  abode  in  the  Rue  Chantereine,  flatteringly  re- 
named Rue  de  la  Victoire,  the  dangers  of  popularity 
and  the  perils  of  his  exceptional  position  in  the  Re- 
public. 

He  had  to  be  present  at  all  fetes  in  honor  of  the 
victorious  army.  He  found  himself  a  hero.  Every- 
where he  was  hailed  with  a  flutter  of  flags  :  Barras, 
and  even  Talleyrand,  praised  him  soberly,  Bonaparte 
answered  vaguely.  In  his  reply,  only  one  sentence 
was  clear  ;  and  that  almost  threatening.  ♦*  When  the 
welfare  ot  the  French  people  is  established  upon  the 
best  organized  laws,  then  all  Europe  will  become  free," 
said  he  energetically.  Thus  was  the  storm  prophesied. 
The  thunder-clap  of  the  18th  Brumaire  Was  quietly 
announced  in  those  words  big  with  fate. 

Bonaparte  tried  to  free  himself  from  the  ovations 
which  pursued  him.  Carnot's  place  was  vacant  at  the 
Institute.  It  was  offered  to  him,  and,  when  seen  at  the 
public  ceremonies,  he  appeared  to  be  overwhelmed  by 
his  honors.  He  seemed,  thus,  less  a  victorious  soldier 
than  a  deep  student. 

It  was  proposed  to  present  him  with  the  Chateau  de 
Chambord,  that  marvel  of  Renaissance  art,  as  a  national 
gift.  He  refused  it.  He  declined  all  distinctions.  He 
would  only  accept  the  title  of  Commander-in-chief  of 
the  army  for  the  conquest  of  England. 

He  started  a  project  of  descent  upon  Great  Britain. 
In  reality  he  sought  a  means  of  striking  the  great  enemy 
of  France  and  the  Revolution  where  she  was  most  vul- 


304  ptadame  JFatt0-<$*tt*. 

nerable — in  her  colonies.  So  he  developed,  in  his  burn- 
ing brain,  a  gigantic  and  chimerical  plan  for  conquering 
not  only  Egypt,  but  Syria,  Palestine,  and  Turkey,  and 
of  entering  as  a  conqueror  into  Constantinople,  and 
thence  to  overrun  Europe,  adding  to  his  army  Fellahs, 
Bedouins,  Turks,  and  people  from  Asia  Minor  ;  he 
would  fight  all  armies,  change  the  face  of  things,  and, 
before  his  conquering  sword,  all  sovereigns  and  all 
nations  should  bow. 

Thus,  among  his  charts  and  maps  of  Egypt,  did 
Bonaparte  weave  a  fantastic  dream  of  a  vast  western 
■empire.  At  the  same  time  his  cool  reason  counselled 
departure.  He  knew  well  that,  when  he  was  gone,  the 
Directory  could  not  but  make  mistakes,  the  generals 
■could  know  but  defeats.  His  need  of  activity  stim- 
ulated him  to  seek  new  fields  of  glory.  He  reminded 
himself  that  the  mob  is  fickle,  and  soon  tires  of  hero- 
worship.  "  When  they  have  seen  me  three  times,"  he 
said,  "  they  won't  look  at  me  any  more." 

A  conspiracy  hastened  his  departure.  The  jealousy 
of  the  directors  was  revealed.  Reubell,  an  honest  man, 
but  an  imbecile,  had,  one  day,  when  he  spoke  of  re- 
signing, handed  him  a  pen  at  once  to  sign  the  same. 
They  sought  for  opportunities  to  accuse  him  of  mis- 
using moneys  in  Italy.  The  directors  seemed  to  forget 
that  they  had  urged  the  general  to  draw  from  Italy 
money,  pictures,  statuary,  and  that  every  month,  the 
victorious  Bonaparte  had  sent  to  Moreau  and  his  less 
fortunate  colleagues  in  the  army  of  the  Rhine,  sub- 
sidies to  pay  their  soldiers. 


Padame  gm$-(&tnt,  305 

On  May  19,  1798,  he  left  Toulon.  Before  setting 
out  he  addressed  to  his  troops  a  proclamation  full  of 
hope,  in  which  he  pictured  to  them  the  splendor  of 
the  promised  land. 

"Soldiers,"  he  said,  "you  know  you  have  not  yet 
<lone  enough  for  your  country,  nor  has  the  country 
done  enough  for  you.  I  am  about  to  take  you  to  a  land 
where,  by  your  future  exploits,  you  shall  surpass  those 
-which  to-day  astonish  your  admirers  ;  and  when  you 
shall  render  to  your  country  such  service  as  she  has  a 
right  to  expect  from  an  invincible  army,  I  promise  to 
each  soldier,  on  his  return  from  this  expedition,  he  shall 
have  the  wherewithal  to  purchase  six  acres  of  land  !  " 

The  campaign  in  Egypt  began  with  its  fabled 
marches — the  soldiers  lightly  asked,  when  they  struck 
the  desert  of  Gizeh,  if  it  was  there  that  the  general 
-wanted  to  allot  the  promised  acres — the  seeming  vic- 
tories, the  maritime  disasters,  the  great  revenge  of 
Aboukir,  it  was  like  a  tale  of  the  Arabian  Nights, 
holding  the  public  charmed,  waiting  for  the  end. 

But  on  October  15,  1799,  there  came  great  news  : 
Bonaparte  had  embarked  at  Fre"jus.  He  was  coming 
to  Paris  amid  universal  acclamations.  He  was  the 
hero,  the  saviour,  the  god  !  France  gave  herself  to 
him,  in  one  mighty  rush,  like  an  actress  swooning  in 
the  arms  of  a  man  in  a  play. 

Had  he,  in  returning  so  suddenly,  foreseen  his  re- 
versal of  the  government,  his  ability  to  substitute  his 
will  for  the  existing  Constitution  ?  Never  !  He  was  a 
great  dreamer.  He  had  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of 
20 


306  Pactum*  £m$-&tnt» 

a  change  as  in  the  reconstruction  of  a  Carlovingian 
empire.  But  he  held  these  Utopian  schemes  subordi- 
nate to  actualities. 

The  18th  Brumaire  was  commanded  by  public  opinion 
and  executed  by  Bonaparte.  The  Directory  had  now 
fallen  ;  France  was  tired  of  that  dictatorship  of  inca- 
pacity. She  did  not  know  what  she  wanted,  but  she 
wanted  something.  Had  Bonaparte  not  attempted  the 
coup,  Augereau,  Bernadotte,  or  Moreau  would  have 
done  it. 

Bonaparte  had  surrounded  himself  with  a  brilliant 
and  valorous  staff;  Lannes,  Murat,  Berthier,  Marmont ; 
legislators,  with  a  knowledge  of  jurisprudence,  like 
Cambace"res  ;  and  fishers  in  troubled  waters  like  Fouche 
and  Talleyrand.  His  two  brothers,  Lucien  and  Joseph, 
worked  actively  for  him,  especially  Lucien,  who  was  a 
member  of  the  Cinq-Cents.  The  result  was  achieved, 
though  without  great  precaution. 

The  1 8th  Brumaire,  November  9,  1799,  at  six  in  the 
morning,  all  the  generals  and  superior  officers,  con- 
vened by  Bonaparte,  were  assembled  in  his  house  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Victoire,  under  pretext  of  a  review. 
There  were  the  six  adjutants  of  the  National  Guard, 
and  at  their  head,  Moreau,  Macdonald,  Serrurier,  An- 
drdassy,  Berthier,  and  the  prudent  Bernadotte,  in 
civilian  costumes. 

A  single  important  general  was  absent.  Bonaparte 
asked  for  him  uneasily. 

"Where  is  Lefebvre  ?"  he  asked  of  Marmont. 
"  Why  is  he  not  here  with  us  ?  " 


$tata*  Jto-dfone.  307 

Just  then,  General  Lefebvre  was  announced. 

He  had  made  great  strides,  this  husband  of  Sans- 
Ggne. 

The  French  guardsman,  the  lieutenant  in  the  militia, 
the  captain  at  Verdun  and  in  the  Army  of  the  North, 
had  become  a  general  in  charge  of  the  17th  military 
division  ;  in  other  words,  the  governor  of  Paris. 

From  being  captain  in  the  13th  Light  Infantry  at 
Jemmapes,  he  had  become  chief  of  a  battalion,  then 
brigadier-general  in  the  army  of  the  Mozelle,  under 
his  friend  Hoche,  on  January  10,  1794,  he  had  been 
made  a  general,  and  commanded  the  immortal  army 
of  Sambre-et-Meuse,  at  the  death  of  his  friend  Hoche. 
At  Fleurus,  and  at  Alten  Kirchen,  he  had  behaved  like 
a  hero. 

After  commanding  the  Army  of  the  Danube  he  had 
been  a  candidate  for  the  Directory,  but  had  been  put 
aside  on  account  of  his  pronounced  republican  opinions, 
and  his  military  occupation. 

As  Commander-in-chief  of  the  Army  of  Paris,  he  was 
perhaps  the  most  indispensable  man  to  the  fulfilment  of 
Bonaparte's  plans. 

He  had  not  been  warned  of  the  projects  of  the  future 
master  of  France. 

At  midnight,  learning  that  movements  of  troops  were 
afoot,  he  had  mounted  and  ridden  through  the  city. 

Surprised  to  see,  without  his  orders,  the  cavalry  ready 
to  depart  for  an  unknown  destination,  he  had  questioned 
the  commander,  Sebastian,  sharply.  The  latter  sent 
faim  to  Bonaparte. 


308  Padam*  gM$-(&tnt. 

So  Lefebvre  arrived  at  Bonaparte's  in   a  bad  humor. 

Bonaparte,  seeing  him,  ran  to  him  with  outstretched 
arms. 

'*  Ah,  dear  old  Lefebvre,"  he  cried,  familiarly,  "  how 
are  you  ?  And  how  is  your  wife,  the  good  Catharine  ? 
Ever  with  heart  in  her  hand  and  her  answer  ready  ? 
Madame  Bonaparte  complains  that  she  sees  too  little 
of  her." 

"  My  wife  is  well,  I  thank  you,  General,"  said  Le- 
febvre coldly,  "  but  that  is  not  the  question " 

Bonaparte  interrupted  him. 

"  Look,  Lefebvre,  dear  old  comrade,"  said  he,  with 
the  affectionate  tone  of  good-fellowship  he  could  as- 
sume on  occasion — "you  are  one  of  the  props  of  the 
Republic  ;  would  you  let  it  fall  from  its  station  through 
the  hands  of  lawyers  ?  Look,  here  is  the  sword  I 
carried  from  the  Pyramids,  accept  it  as  a  token  of  my 
esteem  and  confidence." 

And  he  handed  to  Lefebvre,  hesitating,  yet  flattered, 
a  magnificent  sabre,  with  a  jewelled  hilt,  the  cimeter 
of  Mourad  Bey. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Lefebvre,  suddenly  calmed, 
"  let  us  throw  the  lawyers  into  the  river  1 " 

He  took  the  Sword  of  the  Pyramids. 

The  1 8th  Brumaire  was  over. 

The  evening  of  that  decisive  day,  which  changed 
once  more  the  destiny  of  France,  Lefebvre,  embrac- 
ing Catharine,  half  drew  from  its  scabbard  Bonaparte's 
gift,  and  said,  "  Look,  wife,  it  is  a  Turkish  sabre, 
good  only  on  parade  or  to  rap  over  the  backs  of  advo- 


cates.  We  will  leave  it  in  its  scabbard.  It  will  simply 
serve  to  remind  us  of  the  friendship  of  General  Bona- 
parte who  started  from  as  lowly  a  place  as  we,  sweet 
Catharine " 

"  Will  you  not  use  this  fine  sword  ?  "  Sans-Ggne 
asked. 

"  No  1  To  defend  my  country,  to  strike  Austrians, 
Prussians,  English,  or  any  one  else,  to  use  wherever 
Bonaparte  may  choose  to  lead  us  ;  ay,  were  it  to  God's 
very  thunder,  I  have  mine,  sweet,  my  sword  of  Sambre- 
et-Meuse  ;  and  it  is  good  enough  !  " 

And  General  Lefebvre,  drawing  to  him  the  wife  he 
loved  as  well  as  on  the  loth  of  August,  kissed  her  fer- 
vently ;  and  his  kiss  was  as  honest  and  as  pure  as  his 
dear  old  sword. 


3io  padam*  gm$-<Bm. 


BOOK   THIRD, 

LA  MARECHALE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MADAME  LA   MARECHALE  TAKES   A   DANCING  LESSON. 

Softly,  gently,  the  door  of  a  sleeping  apartment  at 
Saint-Cloud  was  opened.  A  maid  peeped  into  the 
room,  and  finally  entered,  going  up  to  a  magnificent 
mahogany  bed,  crowned  with  a  coronet,  whence  fell 
two  great  flowered  curtains.  In  soft  tones  she  called  : 
Madame  la  Mare"chale  !  Madame  la  Mare"chale  !  It 
is  ten  o'clock." 

A  strong,  rather  hoarse  voice  came  from  underneath 
the  bedclothes. 

"  Heavens  !  One  can't  even  sleep  soundly  in  this 
pasteboard  palace." 

'*  Pardon,  Madame  la  Mare"chale  ;  but  Madame  la 
Margchale  asked  to  be  wakened  at  ten  o'clock." 

•*  Ten  o'clock  already  !  What  a  lazy  wretch  I  am  ! 
I  had  different  habits  in  the  days  gone  by,  when  I  was 
a  washeawoman.     I  rose  early — later,  too,  in  the  regi- 


Padame  ^attf-to*.  31  x 

ment,  beside  the  canteen,  I  did  not  wait  for  the  morn- 
ing drum-call  to  sound  twice  before  I  bestirred  myself. 
But  now  I  am  Madame  la  Mare"chale,  I  can't  stir  be- 
times.    Come,  quick,  Lise,  my  dressing-gown." 

And  she  whom  the  maid  had  called  Madame  la 
Mare"chale  jumped  out  of  bed,  swearing  like  a  trooper 
because  she  failed  to  find  the  hose  she  had  thrown 
down  the  night  before. 

She  was  not  an  easy  mistress  to  dress,  being  very 
impatient.  She  who  was  now  la  Marechale  Lefebvre 
still  kept  the  looks,  the  familiarities,  the  gestures,  and 
the  general  good-fellowship,  which  she  had  shown  in 
the  Saint-Roch  quarter  as  laundress,  in  the  great  days 
of  the  Revolution,  and  in  the  armies  of  the  North,  of 
Sambre-et-Meuse,  and  of  the  Moselle,  where  she  had 
served  as  cantiniere  and  had  gained  the  title  of  Madame 
Sans-Ge'ne. 

The  course  of  events  had  meanwhile  changed  not 
only  the  face  of  the  earth  but  human  destinies  as  well. 

The  little  artillery-officer  of  Toulon,  the  needy  client 
of  the  laundress  of  the  Rue  des  Orties-Saint-Honore", 
had  become  General-in-chief,  First  Consul,  and,  later, 
Emperor. 

His  throne  was  ablaze  with  glory,  and  at  its  foot 
humbled  kings  fell  prostrate. 

France,  amid  the  sound  of  bugles  and  the  flutter  of 
banners,  showed  herself  among  the  nations  of  Europe, 
as  a  vast  camp,  whence  radiated  the  superb  light  of 
the  sun  of  Austerlitz. 

Like  the  lean  and  care-worn  officer,  who  had  pawned 


312  Padamr  gm&-(8tnt. 

his  watch  the  morning  of  August  ioth,  those  who  had 
figured  with  him  in  the  prologue  of  that  gigantic 
drama  had  risen  until  they  were  scarce  recognizable. 

The  prediction  of  the  magician  Fortunatus  was  almost 
realized  for  Lefebvre  and  his  wife. 

Rising  rapidly,  the  former  sergeant  of  the  French 
Guard,  more  fortunate  than  his  companion  Hoche,  had 
been  spared  by  war.  On  the  18th  Brumaire  he  was. 
general  of  a  division,  in  command  of  Paris,  consecrated 
to  the  fortunes  of  Bonaparte. 

Nor  did  he  ever  lose  for  a  moment  the  favor  of  the 
First  Consul,  or  the  Emperor. 

In  1804,  Napoleon  had  restored  the  old  but  abolished 
dignity  of  the  Marshals  of  France. 

Lefebvre  was  one  of  the  first  to  be  invested  with  the 
decorative  title.  At  the  same  time  he  occupied  a 
senator's  chair. 

Lefebvre,  if  he  was  the  least  able  of  the  senators, 
had,  nevertheless,  Napoleon's  esteem.  The  latter  con- 
sidered him  the  bravest  of  all  men,  sword  in  hand  ; 
but  also  the  most  ignorant  in  the  use  of  the  pen  of  all 
his  generals. 

When  plans  were  under  discussion,  the  impatient 
Lefebvre  was  wont  to  throw  aside  papers,  plans,  maps, 
of  which  he  knew  nothing,  and  to  cry,  "  Let  me  do 
something  !  Let  me  go,  with  my  grenadiers,  to  meet 
the  enemy,  and  I'll  give  you  my  decision." 

And  he  always  made  his  way. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  he  was  ever  docile  and  re- 
spectful  toward   his   emperor,  his   god,  and    that   he 


gftadam*  gm$-(&tm.  315 

executed  to  the  letter  the  orders  of  the  master  of 
war. 

Napoleon  schemed  and  Lefebvre  executed.  He  was- 
as  a  ball  in  a  cannon.  Where  the  Emperor  threw  him 
he  went  straight  ahead  with  irresistible  force,  under  a 
powerful  impulse,  and  nothing  withstood  him. 

It  was  he  who  commanded  the  Imperial  Foot- 
Guards,  tall  as  a  legion  of  giants. 

But  Lefebvre  was  not  only  a  great  warrior  ;  he  was- 
also  an  exceptional  husband. 

Toward  Catharine  he  was  ever  the  same,  despite  the 
change  of  uniform  ;  and  the  great  medal  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor  which  hung  on  his  breast  had  nowise  altered 
the  true  pulses  of  his  heart. 

They  laughed  a  little  in  the  Imperial  Court,  at  the 
conjugal  fidelity  of  these  two  good  people,  but  Napo- 
leon, who  upheld  an  apparent  severity  of  manners, 
congratulated  Lefebvre  and  his  wife  on  the  excellent 
example  they  set  to  the  households  of  the  officers,  aa 
example,  later,  little  followed,  chiefly  in  his  own 
family. 

The  Emperor  meantime  had  not  failed  to  make  some 
remarks  to  Lefebvre  on  the  manners  and  ways  of  his 
lady. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said  ;  ««  try  to  make  your  wife  un- 
derstand that  she  must  not  lift  her  skirts  when  she 
enters  the  Empress's  apartments,  as  if  she  were  pre- 
paring to  jump  a  ditch  ;  tell  her,  also,  to  use  no  oaths,, 
and  to  pronounce  her  f's  and  her  p's  on  all  occasions. 
Ours  are  no  longer  the  times  of  Hubert,  and  my  court 


314  Hftadam*  j$a»;s-<*ktt*. 

is  not  that  of  Pere  Duchesne.     Ah,  one  more   sugges. 
tion.     Are  you  listening,  Lefebvre  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire,"  said  the  marshal  ;  for  though  he  recog- 
nized the  truth  of  the  Emperor's  words  it  pained  him  to 
hear  them. 

"  Well,  your  wife  is  ever  disposed  to  bandy  words 
with  my  sisters — especially  with  Elisa.  This  must 
not  be — one  doesn't  like  constant  bickerings  among 
women " 

"  Sire,  Madame  Bacciochi  reproaches  my  wife  with 
her  humble  birth — with  her  republican  and  patriotic 
opinions — nevertheless,  sire,  we  are  republicans,  you 
and  I." 

"  Surely,"  said  Napoleon,  smiling  at  the  nalfve  confi- 
dence of  Lefebvre,  who,  like  most  of  the  old  soldiers 
of  '92,  still  fancied  he  served  the  Republic  in  bowing 
to  the  Emperor. 

"Lefebvre,  old  friend,"  said  Napoleon,  "tell  the 
margchale  that  I  trust  she  will  not  in  future  quarrel 
with  my  sisters." 

"  Sire,  I  shall  report  your  Majesty's  remarks  to 
the  mare"chale.  She  will  remember  them,  I  promise 
you." 

"  If  she  can,"  murmured  the  Emperor.  "  I  do  not 
demand  the  impossible.      Early  habits  will  cling." 

He  stopped  in  his  rapid  march  up  and  down  his 
room,  and  muttered  : 

"  What  folly,  to  marry  when  one  is  a  sergeant." 

Then,  anxiously,  he  added:  "  Ah,  I  made  almost 
the  same  mistake    as  Lefebvre.     He  wedded  a  laun« 


Padam*  gm$-(&tnt.  315 

dress,  and  I — hem — there  is  one  remedy — divorce — 
but " 

As  if  to  change  the  current  of  his  thought  he  sud- 
denly drew  from  the  pocket  of  his  white  waistcoat  an 
oval  snuff-box,  and  inhaled  the  odor  of  its  contents. 
That  was  his  way  of  taking  snuff.      He  never  smoked. 

Having  smelled  his  tobacco,  Napoleon,  as  if  he  had 
made  a  serious  resolution,  said  to  Lefebvre  :  "  Your 
wife  must  take  lessons  of  Despre"aux,  the  famous  danc- 
ing-master. He,  only,  has  conserved  the  beautiful  tra- 
ditions of  true  elegance  and  the  etiquette  of  the  old 
court." 

Lefebvre  bowed,  and,  having  left  the  Emperor,  has- 
tened to  summon  Master  Despr£aux. 

Such  a  personage  as  he  was,  this  master  of  dancing 
and  etiquette  ! 

Small,  slight,  agile,  graceful,  light,  powdered  and 
perfumed,  he  had  pirouetted  through  the  Terror  with- 
out being  stained  with  gore. 

And  when  the  tumult  was  over,  and  pleasure  opened 
once  more  the  doors  of  salons  still  cooled  by  sighs  and 
saddened  by  missing  faces,  then  Despr^aux  became  a 
person  of  importance. 

It  was  the  coming  of  Despre"aux  to  the  palace 
which  made  la  Mare"chale  Lefebvre  order  her  maid 
to  wake  and  dress  her  at  ten  o'clock,  though  she  had 
returned  late  from  a  soiree  given  by  Josephine. 

She  found  the  professor  of  graces  in  the  salon,  limber- 
ing up  his  joints,  and  bowing  before  a  glass. 

"Ah,  there  your  are,  Monsieur  Desprdaux,  and  how  is 


316  Padame  gm$-(&c\\t. 

your  good  health  ?  "  said  Catharine  brusquely,  taking 
the  hand  he  never  dreamed  of  extending,  and  shaking 
it  vigorously. 

Despre"aux  blushed,  stammered,  and  looked  down, 
for  the  mare"chale  had  interrupted  him  in  the  second 
movement  of  his  best  bow ;  he  drew  back  his  hand 
from  the  grasp  of  Sans  G6ne,  and,  readjusting  the  frills 
of  his  cuffs,  said  dryly: 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  await  Madame  la  Mare"chale's 
orders." 

"Well,  little  one,"  said  Catharine,  leaning  on  the 
•edge  of  the  table,  "  this  is  the  case.  The  Emperor 
thinks  that  we  have  not  at  his  court  sufficiently  fine 
manners  ;  he  wants  us  to  acquire  them — you  know 
what  he  wants,  my  boy  ?  " 

Despre"aux,  shocked  to  the  heart  by  the  tone  of  fa- 
miliarity, replied,  in  his  weak  voice,  choked  with  emo- 
tion, «'  His  Majesty  is  right  to  desire  in  his  empire 
the  flower  and  charm  of  distinction,  and  the  elegance 
of  a  polished  court.  I  am,  Madame  la  Mare"chale,  the 
respectful  interpreter  of  his  wishes.  May  I  ask  what 
you  desire  specially  to  learn  in  the  great  art  to  give 
pleasure  to  his  Majesty  ?  " 

"  That's  just  the  point,  lad.  There  is  to  be  a  great 
ball  at  the  court  on  Tuesday.  They  are  to  dance  the 
gavotte.  It  seems  it  was  danced  the  days  of  the  tyrants. 
The  Emperor  wants  us  to  know  the  gavotte.  You  have 
the  article,  it  seems;  hand  it  over  !  " 

"  Madame  la  Marechale,  the  gavotte  is  a  difficult 
thing — it  needs  inclination.     Perhaps    I  shall  not  be 


Padame  gm$-(&tnt.  317 

able  to  teach  you  that  dance  which  was  a  special 
favorite  with  Madame  the  Dauphiness,  to  whom  I  had 
the  honor  to  be  dancing-master,"  said  Despre"aux  with 
assumed  modesty. 

*•  We  can  try,  anyway.  Oh,  if  it  were  only  the 
Emperor,  I  wouldn't  bother  much.  He  did  not  care 
whether  or  not  I  could  dance  a  gavotte  when  I  washed 
his  clothes.  But  it  is  Lefebvre  who  asks  it — and  you 
see,  boy,  what  my  husband  wishes,  that  I  wish  also. 
Ah,  that  is  it,  Lefebvre  and  I  are  like  two  fingers  on 
the  same  hand,  and  we  let  the  young  sprigs  who  wait 
upon  the  princesses  laugh  at  us  because  we  are  true  to 
our  marriage  vows.  Come,  my  man,  ready  for  the 
gavotte.     Tell  me  where  I  must  put  my  feet !  " 

And  Sans-Ggne  tapped  the  floor  twice  with  her  foot, 
in  military  fashion,  as  a  call. 

Despre"aux  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly,  and 
sighed. 

In  his  heart  the  aristocratic  dancer  deplored  the  vul- 
garity of  the  times,  and  his  necessity  to  teach  good 
manners  and  dances  like  the  gavotte  to  retired  laun- 
dresses, become,  by  the  grace  of  victory,  great  ladies  in 
the  land. 

He  approached  Catharine  impatiently  and  said  : 
*'  Madame,  did  you  ever  dance  ?  " 

"  Yes — long  ago — at   Vaux  Hall !  " 

"  I  do  not  know  the  place,"  said  Despre"aux,  pursing 
up  his  lips.  "  What  did  you  dance  ?  The  parang,  the 
tr6nitz,  the  minuet,  the  monaco  ?  " 

"  No.     La  fricassee." 


3i8  P*ta*  gnn»-<&m. 

Despre*aux  shuddered. 

«« A  dance  of  porters  and  laundresses,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"  I  danced  it  first  with  Lefebvre.  That  was  how  we 
became  acquainted." 

The  professor  of  elegance  shook  his  head  mourn- 
fully, as  if  to  say,  "  Upon  what  evil  days  I  am  fallen, 
I  the  dancing-master  of  Madame  the  Dauphiness  !  " 

And,  with  an  air  of  concentrated  sadness,  he  began 
to  teach  Catharine  Sans-Ggne  the  elements  of  the  great 
dance  which  Napoleon  wanted  to  replace  in  the  festivities 
of  his  court 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  THUNDER-BOLT. 

Catharine  tried  to  extend  her  arms,  to  turn  and 
bend,  to  draw  her  foot  back,  in  time  to  the  music 
drawn  from  the  little  violin  in  Despre"aux's  hands  as  he 
played  an  arietta  from  Paesiello.  At  this  precise 
moment  the  door  was  pushed  open  rudely  and  Lefebvre 
entered. 

He  was  in  full  uniform,  with  all  his  insignia.  His 
great  plumed  hat  was  in  his  hand.  The  badge  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  sparkled  on  his  breast,  and  across  his 
gold-embroidered  uniform  he  wore  the  red  sash  of  his 
rank. 

He  seemed  violently  excited. 


Padame  gm$-(&tne.  319 

«« Aha  ! "  he  said,  as  he  strode  into  the  room,  and 
like  a  drunken  man,  haggard  and  convulsed,  he  threw 
his  hat  on  the  floor,  and  shouted  aloud,  "  Vive  VEm- 
pereur  !  " 

Then  he  rushed  to  his  wife,  kissed  her,  and  held  her 
close  to  him. 

"What,  in  Heaven's  name,  has  happened  ?"  inquired 
Catharine. 

Despre"aux,  interrupting  the  easy  bow  he  was  trying 
to  show  to  his  refractory  pupil,  advanced  and  said  : 
"  Monsieur  le  Mare"chal,  is  the  Emperor  dead  ?  " 

Lefebvre's  only  reply  was  a  vigorous  kick  which 
struck  the  dancing-master  in  the  back  and  made  him 
pirouette  in  a  fashion  not  recognized  by  the  rules  of  his 
art." 

Despre"aux  stood  the  shock,  and  saluting  with  his 
best  grace,  asked  :  "  Did  Monsieur  le  Mar^chal  speak  ?" 

"  Come,  Lefebvre,  be  calm.  Tell  us  what  has  hap- 
pened. DesprCaux  asks  if  the  Emperor  is  dead. 
That  is  impossible." 

"  No — it  is  not  that — the  Emperor  is  not  dead  ;  he 
cannot  die ;  he  will  never  die,  our  Emperor.  It  is 
something  else,  Catharine — we  are  to  go." 

"  Where,  my  husband  ? — I  should  say  Monsieur  le 
Marshal,"  said  Catharine,  looking  ironically  at  Des- 
pre"aux. 

"I  know  not  where — but  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  go 
— and  that  quickly — I  believe  to  Berlin." 

"  Is  Berlin  far  off?  "  asked  Catharine  naively,  for  she 
was  not  well  versed  in  geography. 


j2o  padame  £ m$-(&m. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Lefebvre  ;  ««  but  nothing  is  far 
for  the  Emperor." 

"  And  how  soon  do  we  start  ?  ** 

"  To-morrow." 

"  So  soon  ?  " 

'«  The  Emperor  is  in  a  hurry.  The  Prussians  are  in 
arms  against  us.  The  Emperor  has  never  yet  injured 
them.  They  came  with  the  Austrians,  the  English,  the 
Russians,  the  Spaniards,  with  everybody,  and  invaded 
France.  They  were  pardoned.  It  was  believed  the  Em- 
peror loved  them — he  has  always  spoken  feelingly  of  one 
called  Goethe,  a  lad  who  wrote  for  the  papers.  He  says 
if  he  had  been  a  Frenchman  he  would  have  been  made  a 
tount,  as  one  called  Corneille,  from  Rouen,  should  have 
been  a  prince — but  I  believe  he's  dead." 

"  So  the  Emperor  wants  to  fight  the  Prussians  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  has  astonished  us  all  by  telling  us  it  is  a 
hard  job.  For  us,  Prussians  are  naught.  The  Em- 
peror pretends  that  this  war  will  be  one  of  glory  •  he 
Anows  best.  However,  I  dislike  to  have  to  use  my 
steel  upon  an  insiguificant  people  like  the  Prussians. 
There  is  no  glory  to  be  gained  by  routing  such  ignoble 
enemies." 

*  Your  pardon,  Monsieur  le  Mare"chal,  Frederick  the 
Great  was  a  Prussian,  and  his  nation  celebrates  annually 
the  fete  of  Rosbach,"  Despre"aux  ventured  to  remark, 
as  he  widened  the  distance  between  him  and  Lefebvre 
for  fear  of  a  second  encounter  with  the  marshal's 
boot. 

"  Rosbach  ?     Don't  know  it !     That  must  be  ancient 


Padame  jSattf-Gtott.  321 

history — before  the  Emperor's  day.     Where  he  is,  the 
victory  always  is  his  also." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Catharine,  "what  a  man  !  But, 
Lefebvre,  may  not  I  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  like — as  far  as  the  frontier.  The  Emperor  is 
going  to  take  the  Empress.  It  is  simply  a  walk  over 
in  uniform — a  little  walk.  Ah,  Catharine,  my  sweet, 
how  like  a  thunder-clap  in  a  summer's  day  is  this  sud- 
den decision  of  war.  But  let  us  see  to  means  for  our 
departure.     Have  you  seen  Henriot  ?  " 

"  Henriot  is  waiting  for  you — as  you  ordered." 

"  That  is  right.  I  shall  present  him  to  the  Emperor  ; 
perhaps  this  war,  so  suddenly  declared,  will  serve  to 
advance  him.     Go  and  find  our  dear  Henriot." 

Catharine  rose  to  comply.  Despre"aux  started  to 
offer  his  services. 

He  rushed  to  the  door  in  advance  of  Catharine. 

"Pardon,  fair  lady,"  said  he. 

He  had  no  time  to  finish. 

A  violent  kick  interrupted  him,  and  Lefebvre  growled, 
*'  You  idiot !  We  are  among  military  folk  here,  you  little 
acrobat." 

DesprSaux  left,  rubbing  his  posterior  parts,  cursing 
in  his  heart  such  military  customs,  and  sighing  for  the 
happy  era  when  he  taught  the  principles  of  stately 
courtesies  to  Madame  the  Dauphiness. 

Catharine  ushered  in  a  young  under-lieutenant. 

Lefebvre  took  his  hand  quickly,  saying,  "  Henriot, 
1  have  news  !  " 

"  News  of  what  kind,  godfather  ?  * 
21 


322  padame  gMt-<3tnt. 

"War." 

«'  But  where  are  we  to  fight  ?  " 

•'  Presumptuous  youth  !  Why,  lad,  you're  not  sure 
of  being  there.  I  must  see  the  Emperor.  Do  you 
think  it's  such  an  easy  thing  to  be  allowed  to  die  for 
the  Emperor  ?  I  trust,  however,  you  will  attain  to  that 
honor." 

Henriot,  overjoyed,  cried,  "/Thanks,  dear  godfather. 
When  will  you  present  me  to  the  Emperor  ?  " 

"  At  once.  There  is  to  be  a  review  of  the  Imperial 
Guard,  and  you  can  come  with  me.  Madame  la  Mare-- 
chale  will  go  and  talk  with  the  Empress." 

u  Yes,  I  shall  go  at  once  to  Josephine.  Ah,  my  little 
Henriot,  I  promise  you  you  shall  go." 

A  drum-call  sounded  under  the  windows. 

"Let  us  hurry,"  said  Lefebvre,  "the  Emperor  is 
mounting  his  horse  ;  the  review  will  begin  at  once." 

And  he  hurried  Henriot  away,  while  Catharine  called 
loudly  for  Lise  and  two  other  waiting-women,  who 
came  running  at  her  call,  and  succeeded  in  arraying 
their  mistress  to  meet  the  Empress. 

It  was  the  close  of  September,  1806. 

The  French  empire  then  comprised  two-thirds  of 
Europe.  Napoleon,  on  a  throne  built  of  trophies  and 
standards,  ruled  people  and  kings.  The  members  of 
his  family  were  also  now  in  exalted  positions.  Joseph 
Bonaparte  was  King  of  Naples  and  Sicily  ;  Louis  was 
King  of  Holland  ;  Elisa,  whom  we  met  first  as  the 
girl  from  Saint-Cyr,  received  the  principalities  of  Lugues 
and  Piombino ;  Caroline,  Madame  Murat,  had  become 


ptadam*  gm$-(Stnt.  323 

Grand-Duchess  of  Berg.  Pauline,  the  widow  of  General 
Leclerc,  had  married  Prince  Borghese,  and  was  Duchess 
of  Guastalla.  Yet  there  was  little  family  concord. 
All  the  Emperor's  sisters  were  jealous  of  one  another, 
and  complained  constantly.  Not  one  was  satisfied 
with  the   place  given  her  by  their  all-powerful  brother. 

"  It  would  seem,"  Napoleon  once  said,  half-smiling, 
half-displeased,  "to  listen  to  their  plaints,  as  though  I 
had  defrauded  them  of  part  of  their  inheritance  from 
the  late  king,  our  father." 

When  the  Mare"chale  Lefebvre  entered  the  Empress's 
salon,  she  found  the  entire  court  in  high  excitement. 

The  news  of  the  declaration  of  war  was  already 
known.  Every  one  questioned  anxiously  when  the 
Emperor  would  decide  to  start. 

They  all  turned  to  the  Empress,  to  learn  from  her 
Napoleon's  intentions. 

"  But,  I  tell  you,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  forcing  her- 
self to  hide  beneath  a  smile  her  great  anxiety.  "His 
Majesty  has  simply  told  me  to  be  ready — I  am  to  go 
with  him  as  far  as  Mayence." 

«•  Lefebvre  told  me,"  said  Catharine,  "  that  I,  too,  was 
to  go.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  be  again  among  soldiers. 
Ah,  your  Majesty,  one  grows  stiff  and  rusty  in  a  palace. 
You  will  sleep  well  on  a  soldier's  cot.  And  to-morrow, 
— or  is  it  to-night  ?  " 

"Who  can  say?"  said  the  Empress,  shaking  her 
head.  "  You  know  the  Emperor's  ways.  He  settles 
things  quickly,  quietly,  and  as  though  he  were  going 
at  once.     No  one  may  tarry.  Every  one  is  at  his  post. 


324  Padame  £att0-<5ettt. 

Then  he  can,  if  he  likes,  declare  war,  and  start  at 
once.  He  told  me  to  be  ready.  I  am  ready.  When 
his  Majesty  gives  the  signal  I  shall  go  down,  and  enter 
the  coach  with  him — that's  all  I  know  ! " 

"  Oh,  we  are  used  to  drum-calls,"  said  the  mare"chale  ; 
♦«  such  trifles  do  not  worry  us.  But  I  should  like  to 
know  if  your  Majesty  has  seen  the  Emperor  this  morn- 
ning,  and  if  he  is  in  a  good  humor  ?  " 

"  You  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  him  ?  " 

"Yes,  madame,  I  have  a  godson,  young  Henriot,  a 
gentle  youth,  who,  having  attained  his  majority,  and 
under-lieutenancy,  wants  permission  to  go  with 
Lefebvre."    • 

"  If  it  would  give  you  pleasure,  my  dear  lady,  tell 
your  godson  I  will  take  him  into  my  escort." 

"Thanks,  madame  ;  but  it  is  on  the  field  and  not  in 
the  hall  that  Henriot  wants  to  gain  advancement.  It 
is  not  in  vain  that  he  is  Lefebvre's  godson  ! " 

«'  Well,  he  shall  go  !  He  shall  have  an  opportunity 
to  die,  if  he's  so  anxious  for  it." 

**  Your  Majesty  is  too  good,"  said  Catharine,  enrapt- 
ured at  the  promise.  At  last  her  adopted  child,  the 
son  of  Neipperg  and  Blanche  de  Laveline,  was  going  to 
gain  glory  and  fight  for  the  Emperor. 

In  the  court  below  the  Emperor  was  receiving  the 
grenadiers  of  the  Guard. 

Beside  him  stood  the  generals  destined  to  command 
his  great  army  :  Lefebvre,  Bernadotte,  Ney,  Lannes, 
Davoust,  Augereau,  and  Soult.  Mortier,  who  com- 
manded   the  Westphalian    reserve,   and    Murat,  the 


Pattern*  ^aws-ta*.  325 

cavalry  chief,  were  the   only  ones  absent  in  that  line 
of  heroes. 

After  having  inspected  the  soldiers  with  his  usual 
care,  the  Emperor  approached  the  drum-major  of  the 
grenadiers,  who,  tall  and  straight,  stood  waiting  tQ 
give  the  signal. 

"What  is  your  name  ?"he  asked. 

"  La  Violette,  sire,"  answered  the  giant  in  a  soft  voice. 

-  Where  have  you  served  ?  " 

"  Everywhere,  sire." 

"Good,"  said  the  Emperor,  who  loved  short  answers, 
"  Do  you  know  Berlin  ?  " 

"  No,  sire." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  there  ?  " 

"  I  shall  go  wherever  my  Emperor  wishes." 

«*  Well,  La  Violette,  get  ready  your  drum  and  drum- 
sticks ;  in  a  month  from  now  you  shall  be  first  to  enter, 
with  head  erect,  the  Prussian  capital." 

"We  shall  enter,  sire." 

"  La  Violette,  how  tall  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  Em- 
peror, regarding,  with  some  astonishment,  the  former 
aide-cantinier  who  seemed  to  have  grown  taller  since 
he  had  become  drum-major  of  the  Grenadiers. 

"  Five  feet  eleven  inches,  sire." 

'«  You  are  tall  as  a  poplar." 

"  And  you,  Emperor,  are  great  as  the  whole  world," 
said  La  Violette,  beside  himself  with  joy  at  thus  con- 
versing with  the  Emperor,  and  unable  to  forego  the 
expression  of  his  enthusiasm. 

Napoleon  smiled  at  the  compliment,  and  turning  to 


326  padam*  %nn$-(&m. 

Lefebvre  said,    "You  must  remind -me,  Marshal,    in 
proper  time,  of  this  drum-major." 

Lefebvre  bowed.  The  Emperor  continued  his  in- 
spection ;  then,  at  a  signal  from  the  marshal,  the 
drums  beat,  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  the  grenadiers 
of  the  Guard  passed,  superb  and  warlike  before  their 
god,  who  stood  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him. 

And  when  the  drums  ceased,  a  great  shout  arose 
from  that  forest  of  men,  great  and  strong  as  oak  trees, 
many  of  whom  were  destined  never  to  return  from 
Prussia,  whither  they  were  about  to  be  led  by  their 
master,  the  terrible  butcher. 

"  Vive  I '  Emfiereur  !  " 

"  I  believe  my  cousin,  the  King  of  Prussia,  will  soon 
be  sorry  he  provoked  my  wrath.  With  such  men  I 
might  war  against  the  Almighty  and  his  legions  of 
archangels,  commanded  by  St.  Michael  and  St.  George. 
Marshal,  go,  embrace  your  wife  ;  we  leave  here  to- 
night." 

CHAPTER  III. 

LEFEBVRE   TRIES    TO   UNDERSTAND. 

On  the  8th  of  October  a  French  army,  under  Murat, 
opened  fire  upon  Schleitz. 

On  the  loth  was  the  engagement  at  Saalfeld,  where 
Prince  Louis  of  Prussia  was  killed,  and  whence  Marshal 
Lannes  marched  to  Jena. 

On  October  13th,  Napoleon   arrived  at  Jena,  and  the 


gjttadam*  gim$-(8m.  327 

spot  where  his  tent  was  pitched  was  called  Napoleons- 
berg. 

From  his  headquarters  he  sent  Rapp,  his  aide-de- 
camp, to  find  Marshal  Lefebvre. 

The  latter  arrived  and  entered  quietly,  his  uniform 
torn  and  the  gilt  on  his  cloak  blackened  with  powder. 

Napoleon  went  directly  to  him,  and  shook  his  hand 
heartily.  "  Well,  dear  old  Lefebvre  !  We  have  made 
a  good  thing  of  this.     Do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Sire,  with  you  and  my  grenadiers,  we  could  always 
do  well ! " 

"  Yes,  your  Imperial  Foot-Guards  are  admirable." 

"The  Imperial  Cavalry  Guard,  which  Bessieres com- 
manded, did  well,  too,"  said  Lefebvre,  who  was  excep- 
tionally free  from  jealousy  of  other  marshals.  He  loved 
them  all  except  Bernadotte,  in  whom  his  honest  nature 
suspected  treason. 

"  You  are  all  admirable  !  "  said  Napoleon,  "  and  you 
may  say  to  your  grenadiers  to-night,  '  Soldiers,  the  Em- 
peror is  pleased  with  you.'  " 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  sire  !  That  will  be  all-sufficient 
for  them.  Do  you  know  that  the  Guard  covered  forty 
leagues  at  a  single  march,  speeding  all  the  way  ?  Oh, 
sire,  you  gave  me,  long  ago,  your  sabre  from  the  Pyra- 
mids. You  would  not  do  ill  to  give  me  another,"  said 
Lefebvre  familiarly,  "  for  mine  is  used  up.  See,  it  is 
like  a  cork-screw  !  " 

"  Well,  well !  In  place  of  your  sabre  you  shall  have 
a  broadsword.  Now  you  have  a  baton — you  shall 
•stride  on  again  !  " 


328  §Radam*  #att0-<#m. 

'*  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Lefebvre,  whose  powers; 
of  induction  were  not  well  developed.  *'  Sire,  explain- 
to  me." 

"See,  you  have  a  marshal's  baton." 

•*  Yes — but  the  sword  ?  " 

"You  will  know  by  and  by.  See,  here  is  a  fine 
piece  of  work,  done  by  a  man  of  great  merit,  General. 
Chasseloup." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Lefebvre,  indifferently  regarding  the 
plan  before  him  ;  he  was  as  little  interested  in  geograph- 
ical charts  as  in  Hebrew. 

Napoleon  continued,  "It  is  the  plan  of  the  town  of 
Dantzig,  with  a  study  of  distances,  heights  and  depres- 
sions of  the  entire  place." 

"So  that  is  Dantzig  ?  Really  !  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  Dantzig,"  said  Lefebvre,  coolly,  for  he 
placed  little  faith  in  these  charts  furnished  to  the 
Emperor. 

"  You  shall  know  Dantzig  well,  my  dear  Lefebvre. 
It  is  a  port  of  prime  importance  on  the  Vistula.  There 
all  the  commerce  of  the  north  centres.  It  has  tre- 
mendous resources  and  unequalled  facilities  for  the 
campaign  I  propose  in  the  plains  of  Poland — for  we 
are  going  to  meet  the  Russians." 

"So  much  the  better,"  interrupted  Lefebvre.  "I 
shall  enjoy  cutting  down  more  formidable  antagonists 
than  these  Prussians.  When  do  we  meet  the  Russian 
troops  ?  " 

"  Patience,  patience,  Lefebvre  !  Russia  is  a  vast 
empire  and  a  difficult  one  to  handle.     She  can  defend 


herself  by  her  size,  her  intense  cold,  her  lack  of  com- 
munications, and  even  by  famine.  My  soldiers  would 
die  of  hunger  and  lack  everything  in  those  Polish 
snows  ;  they  could  never  reach  the  heart  of  Moscow  if 
I  did  not  assure  myself  of  sufficient  supplies  at  my  rear. 
That  is  why  I  need  Dantzig  ! " 

"  If  you  need  it  you  will  have  it." 

"  I  trust  so  ;  but  Dantzig  is  a  place  of  strategic  im- 
portance. The  King  of  Prussia  has  made  it  the  citadel 
of  his  kingdom.  A  garrison  of  forty  thousand  Prus- 
sians, with  re-enforcements  of  four  thousand  Russians, 
are  its  defenders.  Brave  Marshal  Kalkreuth  is  its 
governor.  I  tell  you  he  is  a  brave  soldier.  He  would 
set  fire  to  the  place  sooner  than  admit  a  besieger.  But, 
that  is  not  all.     Come,  let  us  go  over  the  plan." 

And  Napoleon  pointed  out  the  situations  to  Lefebvre, 
who  tried  to  understand  General  Chasseloup's  work,, 
but  failed. 

"You  see,"  said  Napoleon  at  length,  "as  I  said 
before,  Dantzig  is  impregnable." 

Lefebvre  shook  his  head  and  answered  calmly,  "  Yes,, 
quite  so,  sire." 

To  himself  he  thought,  "Why  on  earth  does  the  Em- 
peror tell  all  this  to  me  ?  What  would  he  have  me 
make  of  these  papers  ?  " 

Napoleon  continued,  tapping  the  marshal's  arm, 
"Yes,  Dantzig  is  impregnable.  That  is  why  I  give 
to  you  the  task  of  taking  it." 

"To  me  !     It  is  I  who Oh,  I  see,    sire,  I  shall 

take  it  I     With  my  grenadiers." 


33°  Padame  £an$-(&tnt. 

"With  this,  stupid,"  said  Napoleon,  pointing  to  Gen- 
eral Chasseloup's  plan. 

Lefebvre  was  mystified.  He  looked  first  at  the  Em- 
peror and  then  at  the  plan,  from  one  to  the  other, 
trying  to  find  some  connection  between  the  two.  What 
could  Napoleon  mean  ?  How  could  one  take  a  city 
with  a  scrap  of  paper  ?  He  was  ordered  to  take  Dant- 
zig — he  would  do  it.  But  with  his  soldiery.  They 
should  see. 

"  Old  horse,"  said  Napoleon,  "  you  shall  take  Dant- 
zig,  as  I  want  you  to,  and  then,  when  we  return  to 
France,  you  will  have  a  tale  to  tell  in  the  Senate 
Chamber  !  " 

Lefebvre  bowed,  pleased  with  his  Emperor's  confi- 
dence. The  latter  had  promised  him  minute  instruc- 
tions and  the  able  assistance  of  Chasseloup,  and  the 
artillery  general,  Lareboisiere. 

"  I  shall  write  this  good  news  to  my  wife,"  said  Le- 
febvre, taking  leave  of  the  Emperor.  "  She  will  be  so 
glad,  and  bless  your  Majesty  again  for  your  kindness  !  " 

"  Your  wife  ?  La  Sans-Ggne  ?  "  said  Napokon  in  a 
disdainful  voice.  "  Ah,  you  think  a  great  deal  of  your 
wife,  eh,  Lefebvre  ?  "  he  asked  carelessly. 

The  marshal  raised  his  head  in  surprise. 

"  Do  I  ?  Why  do  you  ask  that,  sire  ?  Ah,  Catha- 
rine and  I  love  like  a  pair  of  children.  We  are  the 
same  lovers  to-day  as  when  she  was  a  laundress  and  I 
a  sergeant,  never  dreaming  that  we  should  one  day 
appear  at  your  court,  she  as  Madame  la  Mare"chale 
and  I  as  Commander  of  the  Imperial  Guard.     Do  I  love 


Catharine  ?  Oh,  sire — my  emperor,  my  wife,  and  my 
flag.  I  know  only  these  ani  the  law  of  arms  !  I  am. 
untutored — scarce  ever  went  to  school.  I  am  capable 
of  but  three  things.  To  serve  my  emperor,  to  love  my 
wife,  and  to  defend  the  eagle  you  have  confided  to  my 
care.  I  know  these  three,  and  but  these  three  ;  but  I 
defy  any  in  the  Empire  to  avow  himself  better  than  I  on 
these  points." 

"Very  well;  be  calm,  Lefebvre,"  said  Napoleon, 
hiding,  with  a  smile,  a  thought  he  judged  it  best  not  to 
speak  at  the  moment.  "  I  would  not  keep  you  from 
ioving  your  wife.  When  you  have  taken  Dantzig,  and 
we  have  conquered  the  whole  line — see,  old  friend,  I 
know  the  Mare'chale  Lefebvre,  despite  her  occasional 
oaths,  and  her  aspect  of  a  misplaced  soldier,  at  my 
court,  is  at  bottom  a  good,  true  wife — it  might  make 
me  smile  in  fancy  ;  but  all  the  world  will  bow  to  her, 
when  I  place  on  the  head  of  the  former  laundress  a 
trophy  they  shall  envy." 

"  Ah,  I  will  try  to  understand,"  murmured  Lefebvre, 
rubbing  his  forehead  to  facilitate  the  entrance  of  the 
idea.  '*  Yes,  I  have  a  marshal's  baton,  you  would  add 
other  honors  to  it.  Oh,  sire,  how  *can  I  ever  repay 
you  ?     For  you  I  should  attempt  the  impossible  !  " 

"  Do  so — take  Dantzig." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Lefebvre  ;  and  bowing  he  left  the 
Emperor,  his  eyes  bright,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  step 
buoyant  and  his  spirit  joyous. 

**  Brave  heart,"  murmured  Napoleon,  looking  after 
him,  "  those  soldiers  of  the  old  order  were  wondrous 


332  Padame  gm$-(&tnt. 

men."  And  with  a  sigh  he  added,  "  That  such  heroes 
should  become  useless — war  changes — I  have  altered 
it — and  such  men  as  Lefebvre  cannot  be  found  again — 
not  such  men  as  he — nor  as  myself,  perhaps.  Ah,  he 
who  lives  will  see.     Now  for  Berlin  ! " 

And,  on  the  27th  of  October,  1806,  Berlin  was  the 
scene  of  a  mighty  spectacle.  Like  the  legions  of  Rome 
the  victorious  army  made  its  entry  into  the  capital  of 
the  vanquished  state,  and  La  Violette  was  at  its  head. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
MONSIEUR  LE  DUC. 

We  must  now  carry  the  reader  to  the  26th  of  May 
following  the  events  of  our  last  chapter. 

On  that  day,  Marshal  Lefebvre  made  his  official  entry 
into  Dantzig. 

He  had  invited  his  two  colleagues,  Marshal  Lannes, 
and  Marshal  Mortier,  to  ride  beside  him,  between 
double  files  of  soldiers,  to  receive  the  surrendered 
sword  of  Marshal  Kalkreuth,  who  was  to  evacuate 
the  place  with  his  vanquished  garrison. 

Lannes  and.Mortier  refused  on  the  ground  that  Le- 
febvre had  the  sole  right  to  the  honors,  as  he  alone  had 
sustained  the  labprs  and  dangers  of  that  memorable 
siege. 

All  the  troops  who  had  taken  part  in  the  capture  of 
Dantzig   formed    the  detachment  of  honor,  and  with 


Padamc  £att0-$*tt*.  333 

drums  beating,  and  colors  flying,  marched  behind  their 
■victorious  chief. 

The  siege  had  lasted  fifty-one  days.  The  formidable 
position  of  the  place,  the  equal  number  of  assailants 
.and  besieged,  the  lack  of  artillery  in  the  besieging 
camp,  the  cold,  the  snow,  the  rain,  had  all  helped  to 
prolong  resistance. 

The  moral  effect  of  the  surrender  of  Dantzig  was  im- 
mense. The  material  result  was  equally  important, 
for  Napoleon  found  quantities  of  provisions,  grain,  and 
wine,  which  had  been  stored  away.  The  wine  es- 
pecially was,  in  that  cold  climate,  a  cordial  for  the 
soldiers,  an  elixir  of  life  and  good  spirits. 

Two  days  after  Lefebvre's  entry  into  Dantzig,  Na- 
poleon came  to  visit  the  place.  He  assigned  two 
regiments  as  town  garrison,  and  gave  a  great  dinner 
to  all  the  generals,  at  which  feast  Lefebvre  sat  at  his 
right  hand. 

Before  the  dinner,  while  all  the  generals  and  mar- 
shals— Lefebvre,  Lannes,  and  Mortier — awaited  the  ar- 
rival of  the  Emperor,  Duroc,  the  grand-marshal  en- 
tered, bearing  a  sword  whose  hilt  was  encrusted  with 
diamonds. 

An  officer  accompanied  him,  bearing  a  red  velvet 
cushion,  on  which  lay  a  coronet  of  gold. 

Duroc,  holding  the  sword  and  the  officer  the  cushion, 
took  their  places  on  either  side  of  the  chair  reserved 
for  Napoleon. 

He  entered  presently,  wearing  his  ordinary  costume, 
and  seated  himself,  smiling  amusedly  as  his  eyes  caught 
sight  of  sword  and  crown. 


334  padame  gm\$-(&tnt. 

The  Emperor  now  rose  and  said  solemnly  to  Duroc, 
"  Pray  ask  our  dear  old  friend,  Marshal  Lefebvre,  to 
come  hither." 

Duroc  bowed  and  addressed  himself  to  Lefebvre, 
who  had  turned  toward  Napoleon. 

He  put  out  his  hand  mechanically,  thinking  the  Em- 
peror intended  to  greet  him  fraternally,  before  them  all, 
in  token  of  his  victory. 

But  Napoleon  said:  "Grand-Marshal,  pray  ask 
Monsieur  le  Due  de  Dantzig  to  kneel  and  receive  the 
investiture." 

Hearing  that  unaccustomed  title,  Lefebvre  turned  to 
see  if  the  Emperor  was  addressing  some  one  behind 
him — a  Prussion  functionary,  or  a  Russian,  for  at  that 
time  there  were  in  France  neither  dukes  nor  duchies. 

Duroc  whispered  to  him  :  ««  Kneel." 

And  he  saw  Duroc's  assistant  place  a  cushion  for 
his  knee,  while  Napoleon,  taking  the  coronet,  placed  it 
on  his  head. 

Entirely  stupefied,  Lefebvre  remained  on  his  knees, 
scarce  understanding  the  great  fortune  which  had  come 
to  him,  while  Napoleon,  taking  the  sword,  struck  his 
shoulder  thrice,  saying,  with  the  gravity  of  an  officiating 
pontiff,  "  In  the  name  of  the  Empire,  by  the  Grace  of 
God,  and  the  desire  of  the  nation,  Lefebvre,  I  this  day 
create  thee  Duke  of  Dantzig,  to  enjoy  and  profit  by  such 
advantages  and  privileges  as  shall  be  added  to  that 
dignity." 

Then,  in  a  softer  voice,  "  Rise,  Monsieur  le  Due  de 
Dantzig,  and  embrace  your  Emperor." 


Padmttt  £att0-<Sm.  335 

Immediately  the  drummers  placed  under  the  win- 
dows beat  a  march,  and  all  the  generals  and  marshals 
•crowded  round  to  congratulate  Lefebvre. 

Moved  by  the  Emperor's  embrace,  and  a  little  awk- 
ward about  his  coronet,  which  did  not  seem  firm  on  his 
head,  and  seeking  for  a  place  to  lay  the  ducal  sword, 
which  was  to  replace  the  sabre  from  the  Pyramids,  the 
Due  de  Dantzig  said  to  Duroc,  who  congratulated  him  : 
"How  glad  my  good  wife  will  be — Catharine  a 
duchess  !  how  strange,  Duroc  !  " 

And,  as  he  laughed  heartily,  he  turned  again  to 
Duroc. 

"  Dear  Marshal,  how  soon  will  the  Emperor  give  the 
signal  for  us  to  be  seated  ?  " 

"  Are  you  hungry,  Lefebvre  ?  " 

"  No  !  But  the  sooner  the  Emperor  lets  us  dine,  the 
sooner  we'll  have  finished  ;  and  I  own  to  a  wild  desire 
to  be  the  first  who  embraces  and  congratulates  Madame, 
the  Duchess  of  Dantzig." 


CHAPTER  V. 

AT  THE  EMPRESS'S    SALON. 

The  Emperor  was  expected. 

Victorious,  master  of  Europe,  having  forced  his  friend- 
ship upon  Russia,  and  his  will  upon  Prussia,  Napoleon 
returned  once  more  as  victor  into  Paris. 

A  state  function  had  been  arranged  in  honor  of  the 


336  Padanw  gm$-(&tM. 

» 

new  Duchess  of  Dantzig.  All  the  little  world  of  great 
folk  was  busy  with  it. 

People  questioned,  ironically,  how  the  new  duchess 
would  take  her  rank. 

Evil  tongues  were  many  ;  and  people  spoke  with  ill- 
concealed  sneers  of  the  fact  that  the  lady  in  question 
had  been  a  laundress. 

Many  of  the  women  who  spoke  thus  of  her  were  of 
equally  humble  extraction,  and  many  of  them  were  the 
subjects  of  scandalous  tales. 

The  good  Catharine,  on  the  contrary,  had  a  stainless 
reputation. 

She  was  laughed  at  for  her  devotion  to  her  husband. 

As  laundress,  as  cantintere,  as  general's  wife,  as  lady 
of  one  of  the  first  officers  of  the  Empire,  as  Madame  la 
Mar6chale,  even,  she  had  had,  this  daughter  of  the 
people,  but  one  love  in  her  whole  pure  life  ;  that  love 
was  her  husband,  her  Lefebvre. 

He,  too,  had  been  faithful ;  a  virtue  rare  among  the 
soldiers'  of  the  Empire. 

He  had  never  indulged  in  the  accidental  and  allowed 
weaknesses  of  his  master,  his  friend,  his  idol.  Napoleon 
might  deceive  the  Empress  ;  Lefebvre  shook  his  head 
and  murmured,  "  That  is  the  only  ground  on  which  I 
do  not  follow  the  Emperor." 

Once,  laughing  heartily,  he  said  to  his  less  scrupu- 
lous aides,  "  Look  you,  if  I  were  to  deceive  Catharine, 
I  could  not  conquer  Prussians.  I  should  be  thinking 
constantly  of  her  ;  I  should  be  a  prey  to  remorse  ;  and 
one  must  have  a  whole  heart  and  a  clear  conscience  to 


Pato*  #attg-$m.  337 

fight,  as  we  do,  one  to  twenty.     And  brave  Lefebvre 
never  blushed  for  his  conjugal  fidelity. 

The  Empress's  reception  was  well  under  way  when 
Catharine  appeared. 

Caroline  and  Elisa,  Napoleon's  two  sisters,  were 
quarrelling.  Caroline  was  queen  of  Naples,  and  Elisa, 
the  young  lady  from  Saint-Cyr,  was  only  a  princess. 
From  this  low  source  sprung  their  war  of  words. 

While  his  wife  was  going  to  Josephine's  salon  the 
brave  marshal  sat  at  breakfast  with  the  Emperor. 

The  latter  loved  Lefebvre.  He  knew  him  to  be  hon- 
est and  poor.  He  had  made  him  a  duke  ;  he  decided 
also  to  make  him  rich. 

At  table  he  asked,  suddenly,  "  Do  you  like  chocolate, 
Monsieur  le  Due  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,  sir  !  I  like  chocolate,  if  you  would  have 
me  do  so.     I  like  anything  you  like." 

"  Well,  I  will  give  you  some — it  is  Dantzig  chocolate. 
It  is  right  you  should  taste  the  product  of  the  town  you 
have  conquered." 

Napoleon  rose.  He  went  to  a  little  table,  from  which 
he  took  a  long  narrow  package  nearly  the  shape  of  a 
block  of  chocolate  in  a  wrapper. 

He  handed  it  to  the  marshal,  saying,  "  Due  de  Dant- 
zig, accept  this  chocolate.  Such  little  gifts  prove  friend- 
ship." 

Lefebvre  took  the   package  unceremoniously,  put  it 
into  his  pocket,  and,  taking  his  seat  at  table  again,  said, 
■**  Thank  you,  sire.     I  shall  send  the  chocolate  to  a  hos- 
pital.    They  say  it  is  good  for  the  patients." 
22 


338  Padam*  jftnu-tftnt. 

••  No,"  said  the  Emperor  smiling,  "  I  pray  you  keep 
it  yourself,  I  pray  you  do  so." 

Lefebvre  bowed,  and  thought.  "  What  a  strange 
idea,  to  give  me  chocolate,  like  a  little  girl." 

The  meal  proceeded. 

A  pasty  representing  the  city  of  Dantzig — the  chef- 
d'oeuvre  of  the  imperial  cook — was  served. 

The  Emperor,  before  cutting  it,  said,  •*  They  could 
not  have  put  that  pasty  into  a  shape  to  please 
me  better.  Yours  be  the  signal  of  attack,  Monsieur 
le  Due,  there  is  your  conquest.  You  must  do  the 
honors." 

And  he  handed  the  knife  to  Lefebvre,  who  charged 
upon  the  mimic  city. 

The  marshal  returned  home,  enchanted  with  the 
kindness  of  his  sovereign. 

"  What  a  pity  Catharine  was  not  there  !  "  he  thought, 
smiling.  "  His  majesty  was  never  in  better  humor  ; 
but  that  singular  gift  of  Dantzig  chocolate  !  " 

Mechanically  he  opened  the  packet. 

Under  the  satin  paper  were  bank-notes  for  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  1 

It  was  the  Emperor's  gift  to  the  new  duke  to  sustain 
his  rank. 

The  favor  in  which  the  marshal  stood  with  the  Em- 
peror served,  no  doubt,  to  protect  his  wife  somewhat 
from  unkindness. 

But  Napoleon's  sisters  and  the  ladies  who  curried 
favor  with  them,  lost  no  opportunity  to  remind  her  of 
her  humble  birth. 


Pafatttt  £att0-<5rt«.  339 

Circumstances  frequently  favored  them,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  Empress's  receptions. 

Catharine  Lefebvre,  in  grand  costume,  her  head-dress 
surmounted  by  white  ostrich  plumes,  trailing  her  court- 
gown,  and  somewhat  embarrassed  by  her  long  cloak 
of  sky-blue  velvet,  embroidered  with  the  ducal  coronet, 
— advanced,  blushing,  and  almost  timid,  across  the 
threshold. 

For  once,  La  Sans-G6ne  was  abashed. 

She  had  repeated  with  Despr6aux,  in  the  morning, 
*he  ceremonial  of  her  presentation  in  the  character  of  a 
■duchess,  taking  rank  beside  the  queens  around  the 
Empress. 

The  pompous  little  usher,  who  had  often  introduced 
her  at  the  Tuileries,  saw  her  coming,  and  spoke  in  his 
sweetest  tones,  as  he  announced,  "  Madame  La  Mar€- 
chale  Lefebvre." 

Catharine  murmured,  "  The  stupid !  He  doesn't 
know  his  part." 

The  Empress,  meantime,  descending  from  her  throne, 
•went  to  meet  her. 

Josephine  was  ever  gracious,  and  she  spoke  thus  to 
the  wife  of  the  great  conqueror  : 

"  How  is  Madame  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig  ?  " 

"  As  strong  as  the  Pont-neuf,"  answered  Catharine 
unceremoniously.     "  And  your  Majesty  ?  " 

And  turning  to  the  usher  she  said  imperturbably, 
with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  ««  Learn  your  part,  lad." 

She  took  her  place  in  the  circle  of  ladies  amid  sup- 
pressed giggles  and  laughing  eyes. 


340  Padam*  £mt-(Sm. 

Even  when  the  Empress  tried  to  put  her  at  ease  by- 
addressing  her  graciously,  Catharine  thought  she  was. 
being  laughed  at. 

She  bit  her  lips,  to  keep  from  saying  her  mind  to  the 
women  around  her. 

"  What  are  they  better  than  I,  those  creatures,"  she 
thought.  "  Ah,  if  the  Emperor  were  only  here,  he 
would  let  me  tell  them  what  I  think." 

A  man  approached  her. 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  does  not  recognize  me,"  he 
said,  bowing  very  low. 

"  Not  exactly — I  seem  to  have  seen  you  somewhere." 

'*  Exactly — I  knew  you  ere  you  had  attained  the  high 
rank  in  which  I  have  the  honor  to  salute  you." 

"  You  mean  when  I  was  a  laundress  ?  Oh,  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that ;  I  never  blush  for  my  former  rank  ;. 
nor  does  Lefebvre.  I  have  kept  in  a  chest  my  old  cos- 
tume, and  he  also  his  uniform  as  Sergeant  of  the 
Guards." 

"  Ah,  well,  lady,"  said  he  in  a  soft  voice  (his  aspect 
was  half  that  of  a  priest,  half  of  a  bandit),  "  at  that 
far-off  period,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  being  in  your  com- 
pany at  a  public  ball.  I  was  a  client  of  yours — almost 
a  friend.  A  magician  predicted  that  you  should  one  day 
be  a  duchess." 

"Ah,  I  remember  him  well.  Lefebvre  and  I  often 
speak  of  those  times.  What  did  the  sorcerer  tell  you  ? 
Anything  ?  " 

•'  I  also  had  a  horoscope  cast  for  me  ;  and,  like  yours,, 
't  is  realized." 


Pattern*  £ m$-(5tnt.  341 

««  Really  !     What  did  it  foretell  ?  " 

"  That  I  should  be  minister  of  police,  and  I  am  ! " 
This  was  said  with  a  slow  smile. 

"  Ah,  you  are  M.  Fouche"  ! "  said  Catharine  with  a 
shudder  ;  she  was  a  little  uneasy  at  the  presence  of  this 
man,  in  whom,  with  a  woman's  intuition  she  divined  a 
traitor. 

"  At  your  service,  Madame  la  Duchesse  !  "  said  the 
cat-like  courtier  with  a  bow  ;  and  he  added,  "  You 
seem  to  have  rivals,  nay,  actual  enemies  here,  Madame 
la  Duchesse  ;  let  me  guard  you  from  certain  dangers. 
Do  not  give  these  women  the  pleasure  of  profiting  by 
your  ignorance,  by  certain  freedoms  of  speech,  whose 
danger  you  do  not  understand." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  M.  Fouche*  ;  I  accept  your 
offer,"  said  Catharine.  "  You  knew  me  long  ago,  and 
know  that  I  have  no  fine  manners.  But  I  know  there 
are  things  one  should  not  say  in  society.  Only  I  do  not 
heed  my  tongue,  or  watch  myself  carefully  enough. 
You  understand  ?  " 

« *  Yes.  Will  Madame  la  Duchesse  permit  me  to  warn 
her  at  the  dangerous  places  ?  " 

"  Gladly,  M.  Fouche-.  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  you. 
I  am  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  palaces,  I,  who  left  my 
flat-iron  for  canteen  service  in  the  army  ! " 

"Will  Madame  la  Duchesse  watch  me,  and  when  I 
tap,  thus,  with  my  two  fingers,  on  my  snuff-box,  stop- 
that  is  the  danger-signal." 

"  I  shall  not  lose  sight  of  you  or  your  snuff-box," 
was  the  rejoinder. 


542  Pattern*  £aniff-6«tt«. 

"  My  snuff-box  principally." 

And  this  arrangement  completed,  the  two  followed 
the  Empress  into  the  next  room,  where  a  collation  had 
been  prepared. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Catharine's  revenge. 

The  unkind  remarks  and  caustic  criticisms  followed 
Catharine  to  the  supper-room, 

The  Queen  of  Naples  and  her  sister  Elisa  were 
grouped  with  several  friends,  who  turned  a  cold  shoul- 
der on  the  new  duchess. 

Caroline  showed,  behind  her  fan,  a  note  written  to 
Leroy,  the  court-costumer,  by  the  Mare"chale  Lefebvre  ; 
she  had  paid  well  to  get  it ;  and  it  read  :  "  Will  M. 
Leroy  not  forget  to  bring  me  to-morrow  my  gown  of 
catin  "  (sic.) 

She  told  another  story  of  how  Catharine  had  one  day 
missed  a  large  diamond.  She  had  suspected  a  work- 
man who  had  b*en  alone  in  the  room  where  the  jewel 
was  kept.  The  servants,  fearing  to  be  suspected,  had 
summoned  an  agent  of  the  police. 

The  man  was  regularly  questioned.  He  was  searched, 
and  nothing  was  found  on  him. 

««  My  children,  you  don't  know  anything,"  said  the 
mare"chale,  who  had  been  present.     "If  you  had  seen. 


UKadame  £att0-$*«e.  343 

as  I  have,  soldiers  searched,  you  would  know  that  there 
are  other  places  to  hide  things  than  in  one's  pockets 
and  one's  shoes.  Let  me  try  it."  And  with  a  noncha- 
lance which  would  have  been  funny  save  for  the  gravity 
of  the  offence,  she  explored  the  clothing  of  the  man,  and 
discovered  the  jewel. 

The  affair  made  quite  a  stir,  and  Elisa  asked  Catha- 
rine to  tell  the  Empress  the  story  of  the  search ;  and 
Catharine  would  have  fallen  into  her  trap,  had  not 
Fouche*,  just  behind  her,  tapped  nervously  on  his  snuff- 
box. 

"  Aha  ! "  she  thought,  "  his  danger-signal — I  should 
fiave  said  something  out  of  place,  and  Fouche'  has  saved 
me.  I  think  him  a  queer  specimen,  but  he  may  be  able 
to  advise  me." 

Accordingly,  she  resolved  it  in  her  quick  brain  ;  and 
the  idea  struck  her  to  give  a  lesson  to  these  false  ladies, 
"who  were  rich,  elegant,  be-gemmed  only  by  the  grace  of 
fortune  and  the  bounty  of  Napoleon. 

She  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  mocking  circle, 
and,  looking  at  Caroline  and  Elisa,  said  with  stinging 
sarcasm  :  "  Your  Majesty,  and  you,  Madame  la  Prin- 
■cesse,  you  make  much  of  the  fact  that  a  poor  woman 
like  myself  should  be  able  to  discover  a  thief — a  poor 
thief — one  who  steals  a  trifle — a  servant — a  hireling, 
who  was  neither  marshal,  nor  king,  and  did  not  belong 
to  the  Emperor's  family  ;  they  who  take  trifles  are  ar- 
rested, ladies,  the  others  are  respected,  honored  !  For- 
sooth, I  was  wrong  and  I  should  have  left  the  diamond 
with  the  poor  unfortunate  thief,  so  long  as  crowned 


344  Padame  5a»iJ-<5«te. 

thieves  may  pillage  the  Empire,  and  divide  the  spoils 
of  our  poor  country,  our  France." 

Catharine's  words  produced  a  startling  effect  on  the 
brilliant  train  of  the  Queen  of  Naples. 

Fouche"  had  come  near  and  tapped  frequently — but 
Catharine  paid  no  heed. 

She  would  not  hear  him,  and  looking  straight  at  these 
women,  she  continued  : 

•'  Yes,  the  Emperor  is  too  good — too  weak.  He,  who 
does  not  know  the  use  of  money  ;  who,  sober,  economi- 
cal, could  live  on  a  captain's  pay — he  lets  all  whom  his 
favor  has  raised  from  the  most  lowly  position,  pillage, 
ravage,  openly  steal  and  consume  the  people's  sub- 
stance. 

"  They  are  not  servants  who  steal  jewels  left  lying  in 
rooms,  they  are  marshals,  they  are  sovereigns  whom, 
the  Emperor  has  created,  and  who  should  be  exposed 
and  searched  through. " 

Her  voice  shook  with  anger.  Strong  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  Lefebvre's  incontestable  probity,  Catharine 
Sans-G6ne  searched  the  faces  of  these  insolent  women, 
whose  husbands  stole  from  the  Empire  and  were 
traitors  to  the  Emperor. 

Caroline  of  Naples  was  always  audacious  ;  and  the 
pride  of  being  a  queen  gave  her  added  audacity. 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  would  perhaps  remind  us  of 
the  epoch  of  republican  virtue,"  she  said  with  a  sneer. 
•'  Oh,  the  fair  times  when  all  were  equal,  and  when 
one  was  suspected  if  one  happened  to  wash  one's 
hands ! " 


Pattern*  £atwi-<Sttte.  345 

"  Do  not  dare  to  insult  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic," 
cried  Catharine,  in  a  trembling  voice.  "They  were  all 
heroes  !  Lefebvre  was  one  of  them.  They  did  not 
fight,  like  your  husbands,  and  your  lovers,  ladies,  to 
gain  promotion,  privileges,  rewards,  to  despoil  the 
provinces,  and  pillage  the  public  treasury. 

"  The  soldiers  of  the  Republic  fought  to  free  a  down- 
trodden people,  to  deliver  men  from  servitude,  to 
glorify  France,  and  defend  her  liberty.  Their  success- 
ors have  fought  bravely  ;  but  the  emoluments  of 
glory,  rather  than  glory  herself,  entreated  them. 
What  they  seek,  above  all  else,  is  the  booty  which  fol- 
lows a  cavalry  charge,  which  is  ever  heroically  con- 
ducted by  your  King  Mufat.  The  Emperor  does  not 
see  that  the  day  when  fortune  ceases  to  serve  him,  the 
day  when  there  is  no  more  booty,  but  when  he  needs 
defenders,  with  his  wounded  eagle,  for  the  sod  of  my 
crushed  Alsace,  or  the  fair  land  of  Champagne,  that 
then  these  fair  victors  will  ask  to  rest !  Not  one  would 
fight  for  honor  and  country  !  They  will  demand  peace, 
they  will  say  France  is  weary  of  war,  and  wants  to 
rest.  Ah  !  Our  Emperor,  God  bless  him,  will  miss 
those  soldiers  of  the  Republic  !  When  he  seeks  for 
men  who  are  friends  to  danger,  soldiers  who  fear 
not,  he  will  find,  alas !  only  the  husbands  of  queens, 
whose  desire  will  be  to  conserve  their  newly-acquired 
thrones !  " 

Every   word    of    Catharine's    struck    home    to   the 
princesses. 

Elisa  rose  hastily,  saying  to  Caroline  :  **  Let  us  go. 


346  fjttatam*  £m$-(&txa, 

sister,  we  cannot  answer  fitly  a  laundress,  whom  our 
brother's  weakness  has  made  a  duchess  !  " 

Both  left  the  room  with  an  offended  air,  after  a  curt 
salutation  to  the  Empress,  who  understood  nothing  of 
the  reasons  for  anger  of  her  haughty  sisters-in-law. 

Fouche"  approached  Catharine. 

"  You  spoke  rather  strongly,  Madame  la  Duchesse," 
said  he,  with  his  slow  smile.  '*  I  warned  you,  on  my 
snuff-box — but  you  could  not  be  stopped " 

"  Rest  easy,  M.  FoucheY'  said  Catharine,  calmly,  "  I 
shall  tell  it  all  to  the  Emperor,  and  when  he  sees  how 
matters  stand,  he  will  not  blame  me." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE   DIVORCE. 


Josephine  had  long  feared  the  blow  which  was 
destined  to  strike  her  so  heavily. 

She  held  a  certificate  of  her  religious  marriage, 
given  her  by  Cardinal  Fesch  ;  and  she  counted  on  the 
true  and  steadfast  affection  of  Napoleon  to  maintain 
her  place  at  his  side. 

Summoned  by  the  arch-chancellor,  Cambaceres,  she 
presented  herself  trembling,  her  tears  ready  to  fall 
from  those  lovely  soft  eyes. 

The  interview  was  short  and  stormy. 

It  was  after  dinner,  on  November  30,  1809.     Napo- 


Padam*  £m$-(&m.  34? 

leon,  when  the  coffee  was  served,  took  his  cup  from, 
the  page,  and  signed  him  to  leave  the  room. 

For  the  last  time,  he  and  his  wife  were  alone. 

Napoleon  told  his  resolution  in  few  words.  He  tried! 
not  to  seem  moved.  He  explained  briefly  that  the 
interests  of  the  state  required  that  he  should  have  an 
heir,  and  therefore  he  proposed  to  have  his  first  mar- 
riage annulled,  and  to  contract  a  second. 

Josephine  stammered  out  a  few  words,— how  she  had 
loved  her  Bonaparte,  and  how  he  had  returned  her 
love  ;  and  when  she  tried  to  re-awaken  his  tender  feel- 
ings, by  recalling  their  hours  of  happiness,  Napoleon, 
interrupted  her  quickly,  desirous  of  resisting  just  that 
soft  emotion  which  would  unman  him.  He  entrenched 
himself  behind  a  cold  exterior. 

"  Do  not  try  to  soften  me — do  not  think  to  change 
my  resolution.  I  shall  always  love  you,  Josephine  ; 
but  policy  demands  that  I  part  from  you.  Policy  has. 
no  heart  ;  only  a  head." 

Josephine  gave  a  cry,  and  fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 

The  usher  of  the  chamber,  standing  outside  the  door, 
thinking  she  was  ill,  wanted  to  enter ;  but  he  did  not 
wish  to  interfere  between  the  two,  nor  be  a  witness  of 
the  cruel  scene. 

The  Emperor  himself  opened  the  door,  and  calling 
to  his  chamberlain,  M.  de  Bausset,  said,  "  Come  in, 
and  shut  the  door." 

M.  de  Bausset  followed  his  sovereign.  He  saw 
Josephine  lying  on  the  floor,  uttering  heart-rending 
cries. 


348  gjBadame  £nn$-(8tnt. 

"  Oh,  how  shall  I  survive  this  ?  If  I  could  only  die  !  " 
she  moaned  between  her  tears. 

"Are  you  strong  enough  to  lift  the  Empress,  and 
carry  her,  by  the  inside  stairway,  to  her  own  room  ?  " 
asked  Napoleon.     "  Wait,  I  will  help  you " 

And  between  them,  they  lifted  Josephine,  who  had 
fainted  again. 

M.  de  Bausset  took  the  Empress  in  his  arms,  her 
head  against  his  shoulder,  and  started  slowly. 

The  Emperor,  torch  in  his  hand,  lighted  the  half- 
funeral  way. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  said  to  Bausset,  "Now, 
down  the  stairs " 

«'  Sire,  the  stairway  is  too  steep — I  shall  fall." 

So  Napoleon  decided  to  ask  the  aid  of  the  usher,  too. 

He  gave  the  latter  the  light,  and  taking  Josephine's 
feet,  he  told  the  chamberlain  to  take  her  by  the  arms  ; 
and  thus  they  descended — slowly — painfully. 

Lifeless,  and  without  giving  even  a  sigh,  Josephine 
seemed  like  a  corpse  being  carried  to  a  tomb. 

Suddenly  the  chamberlain  heard  her  soft  voice  say- 
ing, *'  Why  do  you  hurry  thus  ?  " 

So,  assured  that  his  wife  was  recovering,  Napoleon 
left  her.     He  was  even  more  troubled  than  she. 

He  sacrificed  love  and  happiness  to  policy.  He  was 
cruelly  punished  for  all  later. 

It  seemed,  people  said,  afterward,  like  a  terrible  and 
prophetic  vision  of  his  destiny,  that  sinister  descent  of 
the  woman  who  had  been  the  companion  of  his  glory- 
his  good  "MiKel. 


Padatue  ^attf-te*.  349 

The  divorce  papers  were  signed  on  the  evening  of 
December  1 5th,  at  the  Tuileries,  where  a  solemn  assem- 
bly was  seated. 

Napoleon,  taking  Josephine's  hand,  read,  while  real 
tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  a  discourse  prepared  by  Cam- 
bace"res,  in  which  he  announced  the  resolution  taken 
by  himself  and  his  dear  wife.  He  gave,  as  sole  reason 
for  the  divorce,  the  hope  of  an  heir  by  a  second  marriage. 

*•  I  am  but  forty  years  old,"  he  said  ;  "  and  may  still 
hope  to  rear  children  with  my  spirit  and  thought,  if  it 
please  Providence  to  give  them  to  me.  God  knows 
what  this  resolution  has  cost  me,  how  it  has  rent  my 
heart ;  but  there  is  no  sacrifice  for  which  I  should  not 
have  courage,  if  I  saw  it  to  be  for  the  good  of  France. 

"  I  must  add  that,  far  from  having  any  cause  of  com- 
plaint, I  have  ever  had  only  sincere  love  and  tender- 
ness from  my  sweet  wife.  She  has  adored  fifteen 
years  of  my  life ;  and  the  memory  of  these  is  in- 
delibly engraven  on  my  heart.  She  was  crowned 
by  my  hand,  and  I  desire  that  she  should  conserve 
the  rank  and  title  of  Empress  ;  and  that,  above  all,  she 
should  never  doubt  that  in  me  she  will  ever  find  her 
best  and  most  devoted  friend." 

Josephine  was  to  read  a  reply  to  this  declaration,  but 
she  could  not.  Tears  choked  her  utterance.  She 
passed  the  paper  to  Regnauld  de  Saint-Jean-d'Anggly, 
who  read  it  for  her. 

She  said  she  accepted  with  resignation  the  decree 
of  divorce,  since  she  could  not  give  the  Emperor  an  heir. 

"  But,"  said  the  text,  "  the   dissolution   of  my  mar- 


35 ©  Padame  gm$-(&m, 

riage  can,  in  no  wise,  change  the  emotions  of  my  heart  ; 
in  me  will  the  Emperor  ever  find  his  most  devoted  friend. 
I  know  how  much  this  act,  commended  by  policy 
and  great  issues,  has  bruised  his  heart ;  but  both  of 
us  glory  in  the  sacrifice  we  make  for  the  good  of  our 
country." 

To  these  words,  Josephine  added  but  one  sentence,, 
touching  in  its  very  simplicity. 

•«  I  am  glad  to  give  to  the  Emperor  this,  the  greatest 
proof  of  attachment  and  devotion  which  the  world  has 
ever  seen." 

This  attitude  of  Josephine's  in  the  dark  days  of  her 
divorce  excused  her  for  many  shortcomings ;  and 
posterity  will  ever  be  lenient  with  her,  the  victim  of 
Napoleon's  policy  and  his  dynastic  ambitions. 

On  December  16th  the  Consular-Senate  declared  the 
union  dissolved.     It  was  a  Saturday. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  a  coach  came  to  the 
Tuileries,  to  take  Josephine  to  Malmaison. 

It  was  a  dreadful  night.  The  sky  seemed  covered 
with  a  pall  for  the  occasion,  like  a  funeral. 

The  Rueil  road,  leafless,  dark  and  sombre,  added  to 
the  ex-Empress's  sadness. 

How  often  she  had  gone  over  it  with  joy,  in  the  flush 
of  power,  amid  the  glitter  of  sovereignty  ! 

Her  son,  Prince  Eugene,  accompanied  her. 

The  Emperor  had  left  the  Tuileries,  and  gone  for 
the  night  to  Trianon. 

Two  days  later  the  Emperor  paid  a  visit  to  Mal- 
maison. 


Padame  £m#-(&tnt.  351 

"  I  find  you  weaker  than  you  ought  to  be,"  said  Na- 
poleon gently.  '*  You  have  shown  high  courage  ;  you 
must  go  on  being  courageous.  You  must  not  suc- 
cumb to  sorrow.  Give  heed  to  your  health,  which  is 
very  precious  to  me.  Sleep  well,  and  remember  that 
I  want  to  think  of  you  as  being  calm  and  peaceful." 

He  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  went  to  Trianon. 

Josephine  buried  at  Malmaison,  the  preparations  for 
the  Emperor's  second  marriage  were  pushed  on  vigor- 
ously. 

Talleyrand  and  Fouche",  the  two  inseparable  traitors, 
were  joined  by  M.  de  Metternich,  of  whom  Cambacgres 
said,  "  He  is  quite  ready  to  be  a  statesman,  he  is  such 
a  good  liar."  These  three  hurried'  to  give  to  the  sad 
and  lonely  Tuileries  a  young  Empress. 

M.  de  Metternich  made  known  to  the  Emperor, 
through  the  Due  de  Bassano,  that  he  had  addressed 
the  Austrian  court  and  anticipated  no  refusal. 

In  reality  the  Austrian  Emperor  feared  the  dismem- 
bering of  his  empire.  In  giving  his  daughter  to  Na- 
poleon, he  would  keep  war  from  his  land,  at  least  for 
a  time,  and  in  that  respite  lay  safety. 

In  February,  1810,  Napoleon  broke  with  the  Czar, 
and  sent  an  autograph  letter  to  Francis  II.  of  Austria. 

It  was  an  official  request.  Berthier,  Prince  ot  Neuf- 
chatel,  was  charged  to  solicit  the  hand  of  the  Princess 
Marie-Louise  from  the  court  of  Vienna. 

Napoleon  was  in  the  prime  of  life  and  at  the  pin- 
nacle of  his  glory  when,  the  divorce  accomplished,  he 
dreamed  of  wedding  Marie-Louise. 


352  Padame  gm$-<&tnt. 

The  idea  of- this  marriage,  the  thought  of  the  young 
girl  who  was  to  become  his  wife  occupied  him  much  ; 
hence  his  frequent  glances  into  mirrors,  and  his  change 
of  manners. 

The  first  change  wrought  by  the  near  approach  of 
his  marriage,  was  the  new  care  given  to  his  toilet. 
With  a  view  to  pleasing  Marie-Louise,  he  sent  for  the 
tailor  who  made  Murat's  clothes,  and  ordered  a  foppish 
costume,  like  that  worn  by  the  king  of  Naples.  But  it 
did  not  suit  him,  and  he  would  not  wear  it. 

In  vain  did  Le'ger,  the  tailor,  offer  to  change  it,  to 
touch  it  up — he  could  not  wear  this  too  magnificent 
costume,  and  sent  it  as  a  gift  to  his  brother-in-law,  who 
was  delighted  with  its  splendor. 

But  he  laid  aside  his  spurred  boots,  and  ordered  a 
pair  of  dainty  shoes  from  a  ladies'  shoemaker  ;  and  he 
sent  for  Despre"aux  and  ordered  him  to  teach  him  to 
waltz. 

He  wanted  to  open  the  ball  with  Marie-Louise,  at 
the  marriage  feast,  and,  with  a  German  princess,  a 
waltz  was  necessary. 

He  tramped  round  the  Tuileries  with  as  feverish  an 
anxiety  as  he  had  ever  shown  on  the  eve  of  battle. 

On  one  such  occasion  he  met  Lefebvre. 

«'  Come,  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Dantzig,"  he  said  gayly, 
••  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Lefebvre  growled  between  his  teeth,  "  Hum  !  he 
wants  to  pour  into  my  ears  once  more  the  praises  of 
his  Austrian.  She  is  perfect — an  eighth  wonder — there 
never  was  so  fair  a  princess.     Why  doesn't  he  take 


padam*  £att0-$m.  353 

Murat  or  Savary  aside  for  such   confidences  ?     They 
are  of  no  interest  to  me." 

Marshal  Lefebvre  missed  Josephine.  He  hated  to 
see  the  Emperor  placing  on  the  throne  of  France  a 
Princess  of  Austria  whose  alliances  had  always  boded 
ill  to  the  land  which  received  them. 

Besides,  the  idea  of  divorce  did  not  suit  him.  It 
seemed  like  desertion.  Having  begun  life's  battle  to- 
gether, two  people  should  not  part  in  the  midst  of  the 
fray. 

Meantime,  the  Emperor  had  taken  him  into  the 
great  salon  of  the  Tuileries  where  workmen  were  busy 
covering  the  walls  with  cloth  of  gold  and  arranging 
rich  hangings. 

«'  Ha  !  Marshal,  is  not  this  beautiful  ?  "  asked  Na- 
poleon, delightedly. 

•   '*  Yes,  it  is  magnificent,"  said  Lefebvre.     "  It  must 
be  very  expensive." 

"  There  is  nothing  too  fine  nor  too  costly,"  said  the 
Emperor,  **  for  her  who  is  to  be  Empress." 

In  a  corner  stood  a  beautiful  harp  of  gilded  wood, 
with  a  chain  of  dancing  cupids  painted  on  it. 

"  The  Arch-duchess  is  a  fine  musician,"  said  the 
Emperor,  touching  the  strings  of  the  instrument 
lightly  with  his  fingers,  and  producing  a  plaintive 
sound. 

He  showed   Lefebvre  the  jewels  he  had  secured — ■ 
jewels  such  as  no  queen  had  ever  worn.     His  own  por- 
trait was  set  for  her  in  a  circle  of  diamonds.     There 
were  necklaces  of  emeralds,  of  turquoises,  and  dia- 
23 


354  Patam*  JFatM-titatt. 

monds.  Such  were  the  wedding  gifts  prepared  by  the 
Emperor,  to  which  must  be  added  a  necklace  of  dia- 
monds, the  gift  of  the  Royal  Treasury,  valued  at  three 
million  three  hundred  thousand  francs. 

The  Empress  was  to  have  thirty  thousand  francs  a 
month  for  personal  expenses — a  thousand  francs  a  day  ! 

"  Ah,  the  Empress  should  be  happy,"  said  he  to  Le- 
febvre  at  parting. 

"  Yes,  sire  ;  the  more  as  the  Arch-duchess  is  said  to 
live  very  plainly  at  her  father's  court.  She  has  but  a 
few  simple  jewels.  Why,  your  victories  have  reduced 
Emperor  Francis  very  seriously.  But,  in  her  place, 
all  these  diamonds,  laces,  and  jewels  of  great  value 
would  seem  a  trifle  beside  the  glory  of  being  the  spouse 
of  the  Emperor  Napoleon." 

"  Flatterer,"  said  the  Emperor  gayly. 

» I  speak  just  as  I  think,  sire.  You  know  I  am  like 
my  wife,  a  little  *  sans-ggne. 

"  As  to  your  wife — I  want  to  talk  with  you.  Dine 
with  me.     We  can  talk  at  table." 

And  he  took  Lefebvre  to  the  dining-room,  a  little 
surprised,  and  asking  himself  somewhat  uneasily : 
♦«  What  can  he  want  to  say  about  my  wife  ?  Has  she 
fallen  out  with  the  Emperor's  sisters  again  ?  " 


gSttadam*  £m$-(&m.  355 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

XOTEBVRE   WITHSTANDS   NAPOLEON. 

The  Emperor's  dinner  was  prepared,  and  the  table 
rset  in  a  little  dining-room  which  the  great  man  pre- 
ferred to  the  large  halls. 

The  dinner  at  which  Lefebvre  found  himself  so  un- 
expectedly was  served  simply,  but  rather  more  elabo- 
rately than  usual. 

Napoleon  was  trying  to  accustom  himself  to  remain- 
ing long  at  table. 

It  was  another  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  his  future 
bride. 

"  The  Germans  have  great  appetites  and  are  used  to 
■sitting  long  at  meals,  so  I  must  get  used  to  it,  too,"  he 
said. 

Lefebvre  was  a  hearty  eater,  and  was  glad  of  this 
new  departure  of  the  Emperor's. 

But  his  uneasiness  marred  his  appetite.  "Why,"  he 
thought,  "  has  the  Emperor  asked  me  here  to  talk  about 
my  wife  ?  " 

When  the  dinner  was  over  and  coffee  served,  Napo- 
leon asked  him,  "  What,  Marshal,  do  you  say,  among 
yourselves,  as  to  my  rupture  with  Josephine  ?  You 
surely  speak  of  it ;  and  I  want  to  know  what  is  thought 
•of  the  divorce,  and  of  my  new  marriage." 


356  Padame  gmti-i&tnt. 

"  Sire,  we  know  naught  but  what  you  have  told  us  ; 
we  bow  before  your  will ;  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of 
discussing  your  orders.  Both  the  divorce  and  the  mar- 
riage mean  to  us  a  new  move  which  you  have  found  it 
necessary  to  make.     We  have  no  right  to  object." 

"  Ah  !  but  how  do  you  feel  about  it  ?  That  is  what 
I  want  to  know  !  " 

•'  Hum  !  It  is  not  interesting  nor  important,"  said 
Lefebvre,  hesitating.  "  Sire,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  we 
miss  the  Empress.  She  was  good  and  amiable,  with  a 
gracious  word  for  any  who  approached  her ;  besides, 
we  were  used  to  her  and  she  to  us.  She  rose  as'we 
did.  We  had  risen  together  with  you,  sire,  to  our 
high  stations.  She  never  dreamed  of  reproaching  us 
with  our  humble  birth  or  our  ignorance  of  polite  ways. 
Oh,  I  know  how  we  are  talked  about,  especially  my 
dear,  good  wife  and  I,  in  the  circle  of  the  Queen  of 
Naples  and  the  Grand  Duchess  Elisa." 

*'  Do  not  exaggerate  the  raillery  of  my  sisters.  I 
have  already  told  them  that  they  must  not  turn  to  de- 
rision the  brave  men  who  helped  me  to  gain  my  vic- 
tories and  to  establish  the  throne  they  consider  too 
much  like  a  family  inheritance." 

"  The  Empress  Josephine,  sire,  never  tolerated  those 
unkind  jokes  and  looks  which  hurt.  She  always  treated 
us  well.  We  fear  that  a  new  sovereign,  a  princess, 
brought  up  at  the  Austrian  court,  among  proud  nobles, 
having  all  the  prejudices  of  her  caste,  will  treat  us 
differently.  We  fear  we  will  be  of  too  humble  extrac- 
tion for  so  aristocratic  a  lady.     Sire,  we  are  somewhat 


gjftadam*  £im;9i-<tae.  357 

afraid  of  your  Emperor's  daughter.  This,  sire,  is  what 
we  say — your  marshals,  your  generals,  your  compan- 
ions-in-arms  who,  as  you  know,  fear  not  even  Jove's 
thunder." 

"  Be  at  ease,  my  brave  friend.  Marie-Louise  is 
very  good.  Your  new  Empress  cannot  but  honor 
heroes  like  you,  Lefebvre,  like  Ney,  Oudinot,  Soult, 
Mortier,  Bessieres  and  Suchet. 

"  Your  scars  are  fair  blazonries,  and  your  nobility  has 
for  its  crest,  not  fantastic  griffins,  but  captured  cities, 
vanquished  citadels,  standards,  and  even  thrones, 
which  you  have  won.  That  modern  heraldry  Marie- 
Louise  will  learn  and  respect." 

"It  is  not  only  we,"  murmured  Lefebvre,  "but  our 
wives." 

"  Eh  !  yes,"  said  Napoleon  impatiently,  "  your  sacred 
wives  have  not  won  battles  ;  they " 

"  Sire,  they  are  part  of  our  life — they  spurred  our 
courage,  inflamed  our  energies  ;  they  love  and  admire 
us,  and  they  are  true  wives  who  merit  the  reward  your 
Majesty  and  victory  bring  them,"  said  Lefebvre  warmly. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know;  but  some  of  these  very  excellent 
wives,  to  whose  virtues  I  pay  homage,  make  neverthe- 
less peculiar  court  ladies,  strange  duchesses.  Why,  in 
heaven's  name  did  you  so  foolishly  marry  when  you 
were  sergeant  ? " 

"  Sire,  if  it  was  a  mistake,  I,  for  one,  have  never 
regretted  it." 

"  You  are  a  true  and  loyal  heart,  Lefebvre  ;  I  believe 
your  words  as  I  do  your  deeds  ;  but  you  must  own  that 


358  ittadame  jfcuuMfcw. 

now,  when  you  are  a  marshal  of  the  Empire,  a  great 
officer  of  my  court,  the  Duke  of  Dantzig,  your  wife, 
your  dear,  good  wife,  is  a  little  out  of  place.  She  creates 
laughter  by  her  provincialisms — her  speech  is  still  that 
of  a  washer-woman." 

"  The  Duchess  of  Dantzig,  or  rather  Madame  Le- 
febvre,  sire,  loves  me  ;  I  love  her,  and  nothing  in  her 
manners  can  make  me  forget  the  many  happy  years 
we  have  spent,  when,  between  battles,  we  could  be  to- 
gether." 

" It  is  too  bad  that  you  married  in  the  days  of  the 
Revolution,  Lefebvre." 

"  Sire,  it  is  a  fact,  nevertheless,  and  unalterable." 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  said  Napoleon,  looking  fixedly  at 
him. 

The  marshal  shuddered,  frightened  all  at  once,  and 
fearing  to  read  the  Emperor's  thought.  He  stam- 
mered : 

"Catharine  and  I  are  united  for  life." 

"But,"  said  the  Emperor  quickly,  "  I,  too,  was  mar- 
ried to  Josephine,  and  yet " 

"Sire,  you  were  different." 

"  Possibly.  Really,  my  dear  Lefebvre,  have  you 
never  considered  divorce  ?  " 

"  Never,  sire  ! "  cried  the  marshal.  "  I  consider  a 
•divorce  as  a " 

He  stopped,  lest  his  words  should  be  construed  as  a 
criticism  of  the  Emperor's  conduct. 

"  Listen,"  said  Napoleon,  noticing  his  embarrass- 
ment.    "  Suppose  you  and  your  wife  separate  by  com- 


Padame  £atijS-#etw.  359 

mon  consent.  Your  wife  shall  have  a  considerable 
dowry  ;  she  shall  be  treated  with  all  regard  ;  all  honor 
shall  be  given  her  in  her  retreat  ;  she  shall  still  be 
called  duchess — she  will  be  duchess-dowager — you  un- 
derstand ?  " 

Lefebvre  had  risen,  and  stood,  pale  as  death,  leaning 
against  the  chimney.  Biting  his  lips,  he  continued  to 
listen  to  the  Emperor's  proposition. 

The  latter  went  on  talking,  and  walked  up  and  down, 
his  hands  crossed  behind  him,  as  if  dictating  orders  for 
a  battle. 

"  Once  the  divorce  is  pronounced,  I  will  find  you  a 
■wife,  a  woman  of  the  old  court,  with  a  title,  a  name, 
a  lineage.  She  need  not  be  rich.  I  will  supply  you 
wealth  for  both.  You  new  nobility  must  mingle  with 
the  old.  You  who  are  modern  paladins  must  ally  your- 
selves with  the  daughters  of  the  heroes  of  the  Crusades. 

"  Thus  shall  we  establish,  by  the  fusion  of  the  past  and 
present  of  France,  the  society  of  the  future,  the  new 
order  of  a  regenerated  world. 

"  Then  there  will  be  no  more  antagonism  between  the 
two  aristocracies.  Your  children  will  take  rank  with 
those  of  the  oldest  families  of  Europe,  and  within  two 
generations  there  will  exist  no  traces,  no  memories, 
perhaps,  of  this  division  between  hostile  parties.  There 
will  be  but  one  France,  but  one  nobility,  but  one  peo- 
ple !  Oh,  divorce  is  imperative,  Lefebvre  !  I  will  try 
to  find  you  a  fitting  wife  !  " 

"  Sire,  you  may  send  me  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to 
the  burning  deserts  of  Africa,  to  the  heart  of  the  frozen 


360  Padam*  j&attf-flktt*. 

steppes  of  Siberia;  you  may  dispose  of  me  as  you 
will — say,  should  you  order  me  to  be  shot,  I  would 
obey.  You  may  also  take  my  rank,  which  I  hold  by 
virtue  of  my  sword,  and  your  kindness  ;  but  you  can- 
not change  my  love  for  Catharine,  you  cannot  part  me 
from  her,  who  was  my  devoted  companion  in  dark  days 
and  who,  until  death  part  us,  is  my  wife  !  No,  sire, 
your  power  does  not  go  that  far,  and,  though  I  incur 
your  displeasure,  I  shall  not  divorce  my  wife;  and 
Madame  Lefebvre,  who  is  mare'chale  and  duchess 
by  your  desire,  shall  remain  Madame  Lefebvre,  through 
mine  ! " 

Thus,  for  the  first  time,  did  the  Duke  of  Dantzig 
brave  his  Emperor,  and  resist  his  will. 

Napoleon  watched  him  narrowly. 

"  You  are  a  brave  man,  a  model  husband,  Monsieur 
le  Due  de  Dantzig,"  he  said,  coldly  ;  "  I  do  not  share 
your  ideas,  but  I  respect  your  scruples.  Why,  man,  I 
am  no  tyrant.  We  will  not  speak  again  of  a  divorce. 
Cleave  to  your  wife — only  warn  her  to  guard  her 
tongue,  and  not  to  introduce  into  my  court,  before  the 
Empress,  brought  up  at  the  imperial  palace  in  Vienna, 
the  language  of  her  class.  Go  !  Monsieur  le  Due,  I 
must  see  the  Minister  of  Police.  You  may  return  to 
your  housekeeper  !  " 

Lefebvre  bowed  and  withdrew,  quite  stunned  by  the 
audacious  proposition  of  the  Emperor. 

As  he  passed  out  Napoleon  looked  after  him, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  summed  up  his  opinion  of 
Lefebvre *s  resistance  to  his  matrimonial  projects,  la 
one  word  :  "  Imbecile  1 " 


Padam*  £nn&-(&ttu.  361 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  FLAMING  HEART. 

Lefebvre  was  very  uneasy  as  to  the  result  of  his  re- 
sistance. He  did  not  know  how  the  Emperor  would 
take  it. 

He  returned  home  to  find  Catharine  trying  on  a 
court-robe,  in  view  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  approach- 
ing imperial  marriage. 

She  dropped  everything  on  seeing  her  husband,  and 
ran  to  greet  him  joyously  ;  but  noticing  his  disturbed 
expression  she  asked,  anxiously  :  "  What  is  it  ?  Has 
anything  happened  to  the  Emperor  ?  " 

"  No,  his  Majesty  is  well — very  well." 

"  Ah,  you  lift  a  weight  from  my  heart !  " 

The  possibility  of  Napoleon's  assassination  haunted 
people,  and  they  could  imagine  no  greater  catas- 
trophe. 

"What  is  it?"  Catharine  repeated.  "You  are 
restless,  you  are  unable  to  remain  quiet.  Is  it  a  grave 
matter  ?  " 

"  Very  grave." 

"  Have  you  had  a  dispute  with  his  Majesty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  had  it  out.  The  Emperor  wanted  me  to  do 
something — I  refused.     I  took  the    offensive — and ** 

"  And  what  ?  " 


36*  Pafame  Jtetw-^en*. 

"  I  fought  him.  It  is  dangerous  to  defy  the  Emperor, 
he  can  revenge  himself." 

"  True ;  but  about  whom,  about  what,  did  you 
quarrel." 

"  About  you." 

"  About  me  !      Impossible  !  " 

'•  It  is  true.  Guess  what  he  wanted  me  to  do  with 
you  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  perhaps  to  send  me  to  the  castle 
he  told  us  to  buy — for  which  he  sent  the  money — at 
Dantzig  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  it — in  the  country — far  away.  He 
wants  you  to  live  there." 

"  Why  did  you  not  accept  ?  I  should  like  to  live  a 
little  in  the  country.  We  can  have  horses  and  dogs  and 
a  cow.  Ah,  it  would  be  pleasant  ;  and  besides,  dear,  I 
am  growing  tired  of  these  jays  at  court  who  laugh  at 
*is.  I  do  not  enjoy  the  imperial  receptions.  So,  if 
the  Emperor  wants  us  to  go  out  of  town,  to  the 
country  he  has  given  us,  let  us  go  at  once — there  may 
be  peace  for  a  long  while — for  always,  perhaps.  Why, 
my  husband,  did  you  not  respond  to  his  Majesty's  wish? 
Why  did  you  not  say,  •  Sire,  we  will  go  '  ?  " 

"  Because,  my  sweet  Catharine,  when  the  Emperor 
spoke  of  your  leaving  court  and  going  to  the  distant 
castle,  he  spoke  only  of  you  !  " 

"And  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  to  remain  with  the  Emperor." 

"  That  is  another  question.  Separate  us  in  time  of 
peace  !     For  what  ?     It  is   enough  that,  when  you  are 


ittadam*  £att£-<5*tt*.  363 

at  war,  I  cannot  be  near  you  as  an  aide.  But  now, 
when  all  Europe  is  at  peace.    What  ails  the  Emperor  ?  '* 

"  The  Emperor  wishes,  not  only  to  part  us,  my 
sweet  wife,  but  can  you  fancy  what  he  wants  me  to 
do?" 

"  No  !  To  take  charge  of  an  army  ?  or  perhaps  to- 
act  as  governor  of  a  great  state, — Naples  ?     Holland  ? '" 

"  Not  that  !     He  wants  me  to  marry  !  " 

Catharine  gave  a  cry. 

"  Marry  !     You  !     Ah  !     And  I " 

"  Divorce." 

"  Divorce  !  Has  he  dared  to  propose  that  ?  Has  he 
dared  to  speak  of  such  a  thing  ?  How  abominable  in 
the  Emperor  !     What  did  you  say,  Lefebvre  ?  " 

The  marshal's  answer  was  to  open  wide  his  arms, 
into  which  Catharine  threw  herself.  They  embraced 
each  other  passionately. 

Nothing  should  part  them.  In  that  silent  and  loving 
embrace  they  vowed  that  so  traitorous  a  thought  should 
never  come  to  them.  Each  sustained  the  other  be- 
neath the  vague  fear  of  danger  from  the  Emperor. 

At  length  Catharine  disengaged  herself  and  asked  t 
"What  did  you  say  to  the  Emperor  ?  " 

Lefebvre  led  his  wife  to  a  couch  and,  seated  beside 
her,  looked  tenderly  into  her  eyes,  took  her  hand  in  his, 
and  answered  : 

"  I  told  the  Emperor  that  I  loved  thee,  Catharine, 
and  loved  but  thee.  I  told  him,  dear,  that  we  had  been 
happy  together  ;  that  we  had  spent  our  youth  together  ; 
and  that  we   had  but  one  dream,  to  lead  our  exist- 


364  Padawe  £att$-<#m. 

ence  to  its  end,  side  by  side,  until  such  time  as  a  Rus- 
sian bullet  or  a  Spanish  round-shot  should  send  me  to 
join  Hoche,  Lannes,  and  the  rest  of  my  companions 
in  the  wars  gone  by." 

"  You  spoke  well.  Does  the  Emperor  think,  because 
he  is  divorced,  all  the  world  should  follow  his  example  ? 
He  had  an  object — a  design.  Why  did  he  want  your 
divorce  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  he  wanted  me  to  marry  !  " 

"Whom?  I  want  to  know.  Oh,  I  am  jealous.  Tell 
me  whom  he  proposed." 

"  He  named  no  one." 

"  Fine  ! " 

"  He  spoke  generally.  He  wants  us  to  imitate  him — 
to  use  him  as  a  model.  He  is  going  to  marry  an  arch- 
duchess. He  wants  each  of  us  to  marry  a  noble- 
woman." 

««  Such  an  idea  !  See,  Lefebvre,  I  do  not  speak  for 
you,  I  know  your  sentiments  ;  but  the  other  marshals — 
what  will  they  do  with  these  fine  ladies,  proud  of  their 
ancestors  ?     Is  not  Augereau  the  son  of  a  merchant  ?  " 

"  Ney  and  Massena  are  both  children  of  the  people 
like  ourselves.  It  is  folly  to  try  to  mate  them  with 
women  who  would  blush  for  them,  who  would  laugh 
at  them,  and  deceive  them  with  men  of  the  old  nobility. 
Lefebvre,  I  begin  to  fear  our  Emperor  is  mad.  Mad 
on  the  subject  of  marriage  with  an  emperor's  daughter, 
a  haughty  Austrian,  to  whom  he  can  never  be  more 
than  a  fortunate  soldier,  such  as  thou  art ! " 

"  The  Emperor  has  his  reasons." 


Patae  £m#-(&m.  36S 

•'So  have  we.     You  refused  definitely  ?  " 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ?  "  said  Lefebvre  tenderly,  taking 
her  in  his  arms  again. 

Blushing  with  pleasure,  Catharine  nestled  there. 

"  So  you  are  not  afraid  ?  Art  sure  I  will  never  con- 
sent to  a  divorce — to  wed  another  ?  "  Lefebvre  asked, 
smiling. 

"  Are  you  not  mine  ?  Did  you  not  swear  to  be  mine 
always  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  swore  it  before  a  magistrate.  It  is  long 
since  ;  but  I  have  not  forgotten,  my  sweet,  the  oath  I 
took  when  you  became  my  wife." 

'*  Nor  I  ;  and,  had  you  forgotten,  you  have  some- 
thing to  remind  you  of  your  promise  !  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  This,"  said  Catharine,  taking  her  husband's  wrist ; 
and,  turning  back  the  cuff  of  his  uniform,  she  pushed 
back  his  shirt-sleeve,  and  displayed,  on  his  bare  arm,  a 
heart  aflame  with  this  legend,  "  To  Catharine,  for 
life,"  tattooed  in  blue  marks  on  the  marshal's  skin. 

It  was  the  mark  he  had  had  placed  there  when  he 
was  married.     "  His  wedding-gift,"  he  had  called  it. 

"  There  it  is  still,  the  oath,"  said  Catharine,  tri- 
umphantly. "Could  you  wed  an  arch-duchess  with 
such  an  arm  ?  What  would  she  say,  if  she  saw  it  ? 
She  would  ask  who  that  Catharine  was  to  whom  you 
had  sworn  fidelity — she  would  create  a  scene.  Ah,  no, 
my  dear  old  Francois,  you  could  not  take  back  your 
promise  !  "  • 

"True — and  the  other  arm  would    please  her  no 


366  Padame  £an$-(&tut. 

better,"  said  Lefebvre,  laughing.  And  he  turned  back 
the  other  cuff,  and  displayed  the  tattooing  of  the  loth 
of  August,  with  the  inscription,    "  Death  to  the  tyrant." 

"See,  we  belong  to  each  other  for  life,"  said  Catha- 
rine, laying  her  head  on  Lefebvre 's  breast,  and  resting 
there  happily. 

«•  Yes,  for  life,"  whispered  the  marshal. 

"I  would  the  Emperor  could  surprise  us  now,"  said 
Catharine,  softly. 

And  husband  and  wife,  more  than  ever  united  in 
mutual  caresses,  celebrated  the  victory  Lefebvre  had 
gained  over  Napoleon. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   DUCHESS'S  NEW   HAT. 

"  Here  is  Madame  la  Duchesse's  new  hat,"  said  Lise, 
the  maid,  opening  the  door  of  the  room  where  Catha- 
rine Lefebvre  was  moving  about  before  a  mirror,  trying 
on  a  new  hunting  costume  which  the  tailor  had  just 
brought. 

A  hunting-party  at  Compiegne  ahd  been  arranged 
by  the  Emperor,  for  the  morrow,  and  the  Duchess  of 
Dantzig  had  ordered  for  that  occasion  a  long  skirt,  a 
coat  with  metal  buttons,  and  a  cocked  hat. 

She  had  been  dissatisfied  with  the  suit,  which  she 
found  too  tight. 


gttadam*  ^m^(5tm,  367 

"  I  can't  get  into  it.  It  will  surely  burst — and  then 
I  shall  surely  be  laughed  at,"  she  sighed.  "  What  do 
I  care,  anyway,"  she  continued,  gayly.  "  I  know  them 
all,  those  court-moths.  If  I  could  only  get  hold  of 
Queen  Caroline,  for  instance  !  I  should  remind  her  of 
her  early  days.  We  have  sworn  respect  and  obedience 
to  his  Majesty — but  not  to  her.  Madame  Murat  did 
not  gain  the  battle  of  Austerlitz  !  Lise,  let  me  see 
the  hat ! " 

She  took  it  from  the  maid,  and  set  it  on  her  head, 
rather  far  back,  and  looked  at  herself. 

"  It  seems  to  me  pretty  bad." 

"  I  do  not  find  it  so,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  ventured 
the  maid. 

"  You  don't  know  anything,  Lise,  nor  I,  for  thai 
matter." 

"  Does  Madame  la  Duchesse  think  it  too  big  ?  " 

"  No,  too  small.  That  man  knows  but  the  measure 
of  our  head  evidently." 

"  Does  Madame  la  Duchesse  wish  me  to  bring  him 
here  ?     He  is  in  the  ante-chamber." 

"  The  hatter  himself?  " 

"No,  his  clerk." 

"  Let  him  come  in." 

And  Catharine  turned  again  to  the  mirror. 

The  door  opened.  Catharine  did  not  leave  the  glass. 
She  continued  to  push  the  hat  about  on  her  head 
impatiently. 

She  did  not  stop  to  receive  the  hatter's  clerk. 

Suddenly  she  shrieked. 


368  padam*  gnn$-(&tM. 

She  saw  in  her  glass  the  face  of  the  clerk  Lise  had 
brought  in. 

She  turned,  and,  pointing  to  the  door,  said  to  the 
astonished  maid, 

"Go,  and  quickly." 

"What  ails  madame  to-day,"  thought  Lise,  "that 
the  coming  of  that  boy  should  bother  her  ?  " 

And,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  Lise  laughed. 

"  Ah,  she  probably  knew  him  when  she  was  a  laun- 
dress— an  old  acquaintance  of  that  fair  time.  Ah,  ah, 
it  were  droll,  indeed,  if  this  clerk  who  comes  to  bring 
madame's  hat  from  Paris,  should  be  more  than  an  ac- 
quaintance !  " 

While  Lise  was  conjecturing  outside,  her  mistress  had 
gone  to  the  clerk,  and,  taking  his  hands  in  hers,  said 
anxiously,   "  How  do  you  happen  to  be  atCompiegne  ?  " 

"I  happened  to  be  at  your  hatter's  in  Paris.  I  heard 
you  were  to  get  a  hat !  I  followed  the  boy  who  was 
sent  with  it.  With  the  aid  of  a  bribe,  I  succeeded  in 
getting  him  to  wait,  while  I  delivered  it.  I  came  in 
his  place  ;  and  I  have  carried  out  my  part.  Your  men 
■were  well  deceived.  Your  steward  overtook  me,  and 
offered  to  pay  your  bill ;  and  the  valet,  and  chamber- 
lain both  spoke  to  me.     Oh,  I  am  quite  safe." 

"  You  are  not  wise.  Do  you  not  know  you  have 
enemies  at  court  ?  " 

"  Only  one — the  Emperor  ! ' 

"  That  is  enough.  Ah,  if  they  could  know  that  the 
Count  de  Neipperg  is  here  !  " 

"They  shall  not  know  it,"  said  Neipperg,  decidedly. 


Padame  ^w-tfte.  369 

for  it  was  he,  who  had  braved  Napoleon's  jealous 
hatred,  and  come  to  see  his  queen. 

"  But  there  are  spies,"  said  Catharine  ;  "  remember 
that  you  are  watched.  The  Emperor  will  surely  know. 
Even  the  Empress's  ladies  are  questioned.  He  is 
jealous,  and,  if  you  are  found,  you  will  be  lost." 

"  I  shall  not  stay  long.  In  two  days  I  shall  be  again 
on  the  road  to  Vienna." 

"  Why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  had  to  see  the  Empress." 

"You  cannot.  You  have  no  right  to  trouble  her 
peace,  nor  to  arouse  suspicion." 

"  But  I  must  see  Marie-Louise.  I  must  give  her 
something  she  once  gave  me." 

'*  A  love-token  ?  " 

"  Yes — this  ring.  She  gave  it  me  with  a  rose  when 
I  was  ordered  back  to  Austria,  whence  I  had  escorted 
her  as  Napoleon's  bride." 

He  kissed  the  ring. 

"I  must  return  this  jewel,"  he  murmured,  "though 
it  is  more  precious  to  me  than  all  the  treasures  of 
earth;  more  precious  than  life.     But  I  must." 

"Is  it  to  return  that  that  you  have  come  from  Aus- 
tria, that  you  would  brave  the  Emperor's  anger,  and 
justify  his  jealousy  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  do  otherwise  ?  Napoleon  has  found 
out,  probably  by  some  slip  of  one  of  her  ladies,  that  the 
Empress  has  not  the  ring.  Marie-Louise  pretended 
to  have  lost  it. 

44  Napoleon  insisted  that  she  look  for,  and  find  it, 
24 


37°  Padamc  gm$-(&m. 

An  entreaty  came  to  me  at  Vienna.  I  started.  To- 
night Marie-Louise  shall  have  her  ring,  and  her  hus- 
band's suspicions  will  vanish." 

"  But  if  you  should  be  seen,  what  explanation  will 
you  give  ?  " 

«'  None.     I  trust  to  escape.' 

««  Who  will  help  you  to  enter  the  palace  ?" 

Neipperg  hesitated  and  looked  at  Catharine. 

««I  have  but  one  friend  ;  one  true  and  faithful  friend, 
in  France  ;  you,  my  dear  Duchess.  I  had  hoped  you 
would  help  me — save  me  once  more,  perhaps  ! " 

Catharine  said,  quickly :  "No,  do  not  count  on  me." 

«« Catharine  Lefebvre,  do  you  remember  the  loth  of 
August  ?  Why  did  you  rescue  me,  protect  me,  save  me 
from  the  guards  who  were  ready  to  shoot  me  ?  Why, 
since  you  will  let  me  perish  now  ?  " 

"  This  is  not  the  ioth  of  August,  my  dear  Count,"  said 
Catharine,  with  dignity.  "  I  am  la  Mare"chale  Lefebvre, 
Duchess  of  Dantzig,  and  I  owe  all  to  the  Emperor. 
My  husband  is  his  faithful  subject,  his  companion  in 
fields  of  glory,  a  marshal  of  his  armies,  a  duke  of  his 
empire  ;  with  him  he  has  covered  the  battle-fields  of 
Europe  ;  we  dare  not,  the  marshal  and  I,  succor  an 
enemy  of  the  Emperor's,  though  he  be  a  friend  of  ours, 
though  we  owe  him  an  old  debt.  Remember  the  ioth 
of  August,  but  do  not  forget  Jemmapes.  Reflect, 
Monsieur  de  Neipperg,  that  which  you  ask  is  impos- 
sible. La  Marechale  Lefebvre  dare  not  know  your 
errand  in  France." 

"  So  you  desert  me  ?  " 


§tt»ta*  £att0-<!!fott*.  371 

••  I  advise  you  to  go  back  to  Vienna  without  seeing 
the  Empress." 

"  And  this  ring  ?  " 

"  I  will  return  it  myself,  discreetly.  Trust  it  to  me — • 
I  promise  you." 

And  Catharine  extended  her  hand  to  Neipperg,  who 
imprinted  on  it  a  fervent  kiss. 

"Thank  you,"  he  murmured,  "  and  tell  the  Empress, 
too,  that  though  I  go  away,  I  shall  be  ready  at  the  first 
call,  at  the  first  sign.  To-day,  she  is  at  the  summit  of 
power — to-morrow — who  knows  ?  " 

"  I  shall  attend  to  your  commission,  Count,  but  I  hope 
and  believe  that  the  Empress  will  never  need  to  call 
upon  you  thus." 

"  Who  knows  ?  Madame,  your  Emperor  stands  upon 
quicksand " 

««  Which  will  not  hurt  him.  The  Goddess  of  Victory 
watches  over  him.  His  throne  is  surrounded  by  pros- 
trate kings " 

"  Prostrate  kings  may  rise  again,  and  then  revenge 
themselves  for  their  long  servitude  ;  I  know  whereof  I 
speak.  Let  your  Emperor  beware.  A  storm  is  gather- 
ing whose  thunders  will  soon  resound " 

"  If  the  storm  threatens,  it  cannot  come  from  Vienna. 
Your  Emperor  is  father-in-law  to  ours." 

"  My  sovereign  has  never  held  as  serious  his  alliance 
with  Napoleon.  He  sacrificed  his  daughter  to  save 
some  of  his  provinces.  While  Napoleon  is  victorious 
he  will  be  treated  as  a  son  by  Francis  II.;  when  he 
rolls  in  the  dust  his  father-in-law  will  not  hold  out  to 


372  Pata*  £ftttjf-<$ent. 

him  a  helping  hand,  but  a  sword, — by  the  point,  too. 
Francis  II.  will  follow  the  lead  of  Russia,  Prussia,  and 
England.  They  are  the  real  allies,  the  real  union. 
He  will  never  desert  them,  but  will  help  them  to  crush 
Napoleon.  So,  I  pray  you,  tell  the  Empress  that  in  the 
dark  days  which  I  foresee,  I  shall  come,  ready  to  give 
for  her  my  blood,  my  life  !  " 

"  You  have  strange  fears,  Neipperg.  Now  go,  and 
do  not  try  to  see  the  Empress." 

"  But  I  promised  her  father  to  see  her  and  find  out 
from  her  if  she  were  happy,  if  Napoleon  were  kind  to 
her.  He  loves  his  daughter,  and  sometimes  reproaches 
himself  for  sacrificing  her  to  his  interests." 

"  Does  Francis  II.  need  so  mysterious  an  ambassa- 
dor to  find  out  the  sentiments  of  his  daughter  ?  Is  not 
the  Empress  at  liberty  to  write  to  her  father  ?  " 

"  You  forget  Savary." 

"Savary  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  has  organized  a  private  bureau  ;  no  letter 
goes  to  Vienna  unopened.  The  Duke  of  Rovigo  is  a 
past  master  in  the  art  of  fumigating  letters,  of  unsealing 
them,  and  re-sealing  them.  The  Emperor  of  Austria 
knows  it,  and  has  authorized  me  to  ask  a  private  inter- 
view of  her  majesty.  That  is  why  I  shall  go,  undis- 
guised, to  the  palace." 

"  Neipperg,  be  reasonable  ;  do  not  be  reckless  ;  do 
not  compromise  the  Empress." 

"  Never  ! " 

"  Promise  me  to  go  away  at  once  without  seeing  hel 
Majesty." 


Padam*  gm$-(Btut.  373 

He  hesitated,  and  Catharine  insisted. 

-  Who  would  help  you  to  see  her  Majesty  ?  " 

"  Madame  de  Montebello." 

"  The  lady  of  honor  !  Ah,  my  dear  Count,  do  you- 
know  since  General  Ordener  became  ill,  Lefebvre  has 
been  given  orders  to  act  as  grand  marshal  of  the  palace. 
He  is  responsible  for  the  entry  there  of  any  outsider.. 
Oh,  Neipperg,  do  not  place  Lefebvre  between  his 
friendship  for  you  and  his  duty  to  his  Emperor." 

"  Would  Lefebvre  let  them  shoot  me  ?  " 

"  If  the  Emperor  commanded  it — if  you  were  found 
here,  yes  !  Go,  then,  I  implore  you,  in  the  name  of  our 
old  friendship,  in  the  name  of  Henriot,  your  son,  to> 
whom  the  Emperor  has  been  kind,  and  whose  career 
you  may  ruin,  for  whom  you  may  spoil  all  the  future 
by  a  hopeless,  mad  interview  of  a  moment.     Go  !  " 

'« I  have  heard  you.  And  as  for  Lefebvre,  and  I  will 
not  tax  him  so  far.     I  have  decided — I  will  go." 

"  At  once  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Neipperg,  slowly  and  hesitatingly,  like  a 
man  who  seeks  to  deceive  ;  "  a  coach  waits  for  me  on 
the  Soissons  road  ;  I  will  go  and  find  the  clerk  whose 
place  I  took  and  send  him  back  to  Paris,  and  I  will 
take  the  road  toward  Germany.  Farewell — you  wilt 
give  the  ring  back  to  her  Majesty,  and  tell  her " 

Some  one  knocked,  and  Lise  entered. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Why  do  you  disturb  me  ?  "  Cath- 
arine asked  quickly. 

'*  It  is  M.  de  Remusat,  his  Majesty's  chamber.'^in,  wha 
wants  to  see  Madame  la  Duchesse." 


374  £tt»&im*  jfeitf-tiitatt. 

'*  A  chamberlain  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  said  Catharine, 
under  her  breath.  "  Probably  about  a  scrap  I  had 
with  the  Emperor's  sisters.  I  spoke  freely  to  them. 
They  complained,  and  the  Emperor  probably  wants  me 
to  explain.  Go — tell  M.  de  Remusat  to  enter  ! "  she 
said  to  Lise,  who  tried  hard  to  hear  what  her  mistress 
had  to  say  to  the  clerk. 

"  Farewell,  sir,"  softly. 

"  So  madame  is  satisfied  with  the  hat  ?  "  asked  the 
apparent  clerk,  loudly. 

"  Quite  so,  you  may  present  my  compliments  to  your 
chief." 

And  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig  threw  herself  into  a 
chair  to  receive  with  becoming  dignity  the  Emperor's 
chamberlain. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  FAITH   OF  THE   LAUNDRESS. 

Monsieur  de   Remusat's  order  was  very  formal : 

•«  The  Emperor  wanted  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig  to  ap- 
pear at  once  in  his  study." 

M.  de  Remusat  being  gone,  Catharine  hastened  to 
dress,  and  throwing  on  a  cloak  started  to  present  her- 
self. 

The  Emperor  was  busy  delivering  orders  to  his  of- 
ficials. He  signed  the  papers  before  him  feverishly, 
nervously. 

He  read,  with  a  fierce  expression,  the  paragraphs  in 


Pa&itttt  gm$-(&tm.  375 

foreign  journals,  which  contained  scandalous  tales  of 
himself  and  his  sisters. 

One  in  particular  irritated  him.  It  told  that  M.  de 
Neipperg,  the  Empress's  guard,  had  been  disgraced 
and  sent  back  to  her  father ;  and  that,  so  it  insinuated, 
since  the  departure  of  her  knightly  servitor,  Marie- 
Louise  had  languished  in  despair,  owing  to  Napoleon's 
jealousy. 

Added  to  this,  he  had  heard  a  quarrel  between  his 
sisters,  Elisa  being  ever  more  and  more  jealous  of  the 
fact  that  Caroline  was  a  queen.  They  had  begun  in 
French  and  ended  in  the  Corsican  patois  of  their 
earlier  days.     He  had  tried  in  vain  to  quiet  them. 

So  the  Mare"chale  Lefebvre,  against  whom  these  two 
had  complained  loudly,  came  at  an  ill  moment. 

As  a  last  resource,  as  a  supreme  defence,  she  had, 
before  starting  out,  taken  from  among  her  jewels  an 
old,  time-yellowed  paper.  She  slipped  it  inside  her 
dress,  after  regarding  it  tenderly  for  a  moment,  as  a 
witness  of  the  past ;  and  calmly  went  down  the  palace 
halls,  to  the  door  of  the  Emperor's  private  study. 

Roustan,  the  faithful  servant,  was  on  duty. 

An  aide-de-camp  announced  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig, 
and  retired. 

Catharine  entered,  bowed,  and  waited. 

It  was  so  quiet  that  one  could  distinctly  hear  the 
clock  ticking  on  the  mantel-shelf, 

Suddenly  the  Emperor  looked  up. 

"  Ah — are  you  there,  Madame  la  Mar6chale  ?  I  have 
heard  fine  tales  of  you — what  was  the  last  one  ?  Al- 
ways violent  language,  crude    expressions,   such   as 


376  gftadaw*  £a»0-<Ektte. 

make  the  journalists  ail  over  Europe  laugh  at  my 
court !  You  are,  I  know,  unable  to  use  the  language 
of  courts — you  never  learned  it — I  do  not  blame  you 
for  your  ignorance.  I  am  only  sorry  that  Lefebvre 
married  while  he  was  still  a  sergeant." 

Napoleon  stopped,  went  over  to  the  table  where  the 
coffee  stood  and  took  up  a  cupful. 

Then  turning  to  Catharine  who  stood,  calm,  im- 
movable, he  continued  :  "  Your  remaining  at  court  is 
become  impossible.  You  must  leave — your  pension 
shall  be  secured  you — and  in  such  a  way  that  you  will 
not  need  to  complain  of  your  fortune.  Your  divorce 
will  not  alter  your  title  nor  your  privileges.  I  told 
Lefebvre  all  about  it — did  he  speak  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire — he  told  me  all  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

•*  I  laughed  at  him." 

The  Emperor  in  his  surprise  let  go  of  his  cup  which 
fell  with  a  metallic  ring,  into  its  silver  saucer. 

"  What  ?    What  did  Lefebvre  say,  what  did  he  do  ?  ** 

"  He  kissed  me  and  vowed  he  would  not  obey  you." 

"  This  is  too  much  !  Do  you  dare  to  speak  thus  to 
me,  your  Emperor,  your  master  ?  " 

"  Sire,  it  is  true  :  you  are  our  master,  our  Emperor," 
answered  Catharine  firmly  ;  "  you  can  dispose  of  all 
our  goods,  of  our  existence  ;  Lefebvre  and  I  owe  you 
everything.  You  are  the  Emperor,  and,  with  a  sign,  a 
simple  move  of  your  hand,  send  to  the  Danube  or  the 
Vistula  five  hundred  thousand  men  who  will  be  happy 
to  die  for  you.  But  you  cannot  make  us  two  cease 
loving  each  other :  you  cannot  part  us.     There  your 


Padame  Jto-CSent.  377 

power  stops.     If  you   thought   to    conquer  here,  you 
were  mistaken." 

"You  think  so  ?  What  say  you  to  the  tales  I  have 
heard  ?  Did  you  not  insult  the  Queen  of  Naples,  and 
my  sister  Elisa  ?  You  do  not  respect  your  Emperor 
in  the  persons  of  his  family.  Can  I  tolerate  such  public 
impertinence  ?  " 

"Sire,  you  were  misinformed.  I  only  defended  my. 
self.  I  insulted  no  one.  Your  Majesty's  sisters  insulted 
the  army  ! " 

"  Insulted  the  army  ?  he  cried,  rising  from  his 
chair  ;    what  do  you  mean  ?     Who  insulted  the  army  ?  " 

"  Sire,  your  sisters  outraged  the  army  in  my  person,'" 
Catharine  answered  proudly  with  a  military  salute. 

"  Explain  yourself." 

"  Sire,  your  Majesty's  sisters  reproached  me  with 
having  been  among  the  heroic  soldiers  of  Sambre-et- 
Meuse  whose  glory  may  have  been  equalled,  but  can- 
not be  surpassed." 

"  True  !     But  how  were  you  among  them  ?  " 

"As  cantiniSre  of  the  old  13th.  I  went  with 
Lefebvre." 

"  So  you  have  fought  ?  "  asked  Napoleon  interested. 

"  Yes,  sire, — at  Verdun,  Jemmapes,  Altenkirchen — - 
I  was  in  the  Army  of  the  North,  the  Army  of  the  Mozelle,. 
the  Army  of  the  Rhine,  the  Army  of  Sambre-et-Meuse,. 
— eighteen  battles." 

"  You  have  done  well,  very  well,"  said  he.  "  Lefebvre 
never  told  me  all  this  ! " 

"Why  should  he,  sire?  He  had  honor  and  glory 
enough  for  two.     It  is  only  this  occasion  which  makes 


378  Padam*  £&w-(Btm. 

me  mention  it.     Otherwise  I  should  not  have  mentioned 
it     It's  like  my  wound." 

"  You  were  wounded  ? 

"  A  bayonet  cut — at  Fleurus — in  my  arm." 

"  Permit  me,  madame,  to  touch  that  fair  wound," 
and  Napoleon  gallantly  took  her  hand  and  kissed  the 
scar  left  by  the  Austrian's  bayonet.  When  he  at- 
tempted to  do  so  a  second  time,  she  stopped  him. 

"  Do  you  remember  my  visit  to  you  long,  long  ago  ?' 
"It  was  the  ioth  of  August.  I  came  that  morning  to 
your  little  room  in  the  Hotel  de  Maureaud." 

"  What  were  you  doing  there  ?  "  he  asked,  more  and 
more  interested  in  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig. 

"  I  came  to  bring  you  your  washing — you  needed 
the  things." 

Napoleon  looked  at  her  closely.  He  asked  curiously — 
"You  were  then " 

"  A  laundress.  Yes,  sire — that  is  what  your  sisters 
cast  in  my  teeth." 

"  Laundress  !  laundress ! "  repeated  Napoleon.  "  You 
have  done  many  things  in  your  day ;  you  were  a 
laundress  as  well  as  a  cantiniere  ?" 

"  Sire,  one  earns  an  honest  living  as  one  can.  One 
does  not  count  the  means  if  the  work  is  good  with  bad 
debts.  Do  you  believe  there  is  a  soldier  in  your  palace 
who  owes  me  a  bill  since  then  ?  " 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  pay  you  ?  " 

"  I  count  on  your  Majesty." 

"  You  are  mad." 

"  I  ask  only  my  due.  Then,  my  creditor  was  poor — 
n«w,  he  is  rich,"  she  said,  laughing. 


Hftadame  gm$-(&tnt.  379 

And  she  drew  forth  the  yellow  paper,  saying  : 

"  See,  he  cannot  deny  his  debt.  Here  is  the  letter 
in  which  he  owns  his  debt,  and  prays  me  to  wait  a 
little.  Look  !  See  what  he  wrote — '  I  cannot  pay  you 
now — my  pay  is  insufficient  for  my  needs,  and  to  as- 
sist my  mother,  my  brothers,  and  sisters,  who  have  fled 
from  the  trouble  in  Corsica,  and  are  in  Marseilles. 
When  I  am  once  more  in  commission  as  an  artillery 
captain ' " 

Napoleon  rushed  toward  her,  took  the  letter  and 
said,  huskily:  "  Yes,  that  was  I.  Ah,  how  that  crumpled 
paper,  that  faded  ink  bring  back  my  youth  !  Then,  I 
was  poor,  unknown,  devoured  by  ambition,  uneasy  for 
my  family,  preoccupied  by  the  fate  of  my  country.  I 
was  alone,  without  friends,  without  credit,  with  none 
to  believe  in  me — yet  you  believed  ;  you,  a  simple 
laundress.  Ah,  I  remember  now ;  you  were  kind, 
you  were  clever,  too  ;  you,  alone,  perhaps,  in  that  day, 
could  see  the  future,  and  know  that  the  little  officer 
would  rise  above  the  little  room  whither  you  carried 
his  washing  and  left  it — in  pity  for  his  loneliness  and 
his  poverty.     The  Emperor  will  not  forget  again." 

Napoleon  was  moved.     All  his  anger  was  gone. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  see  you  again  in  your  room  in  the 
Rue  des  Orties.  I  seem  to  be  there — your  bedroom 
door  was  at  the  left — on  the  right,  the  street  door. 
What  was  your  name  before  you  were  married  ?  " 

"Catharine — Catharine  Upscher." 

"  Had  you  no  other  name — no  nickname  ?" 

«•  Yes,  they  called  me  la  Sans-Gene." 


38°  Padam*  £m$-(&m. 

"I  have  it.     You  have  kept  that  name,  too,  at  court.* 

"  Ay  ;  and  on  the  battle-held,  sire." 

"True,"  said  the  Emperor,  smiling.  "You  did 
well  to  defend  your  cantiniere's  short  skirts  against 
the  insolence  of  court  nobles  :  but  avoid  scenes  which 
are  disagreeable  to  me.  Be  at  the  chase  to-morrow, 
Catharine  Sans-G6ne,  which  I  hold  in  honor  of  the 
Prince  of  Bavaria.  Before  all  the  court,,  before  my 
sisters,  I  will  speak  to  you  in  such  fashion  that  none 
will  dare  reproach  you  with  your  humble  origin,  and 
the  poor  youth  you  shared  with  Murat,  with  Ney — ay, 
with  me  !  But  before  we  part,  how  much  do  I  owe 
you,  Madame  Sans-G6ne  ?  " 

He  felt  in  his  pockets  gayly. 

"  Three  napoleons,  sire." 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"Faith,"  he  said,  "  I  haven't  them." 

"  Never  mind,  sire,  I'll  trust  you  again." 

"  Thanks.  Now,  come,  it  is  late  :  you  must  get  home. 
Why,  it  is  eleven  o'clock,  and  all  the  palace  is  asleep. 
We  should  both  be  a-bed.  I  shall  send  Roustan  with 
you." 

"  Sire,  I  am  not  afraid.  Besides,  who  could  enter  the 
palace  by  night  ?  "  said  the  duchess  calmly. 

"  None — yet  through  these  empty  halls  some  one 
must  light  your  way." 

He  called  softly,  '*  Roustan." 

The  inner  door  opened,  and  Roustan  appeared. 

"  Take  Madame  la  Mare"chale  to  her  apartments  at 
the  other  end  of  the  palace,"  said  the  Emperor.  "  Take 
a  light" 


padame  gm\$-(&tnt.  381 

Roustan  bowed,  lighted  a  candle,  and  opened  the 
door  leading  to  a  long  gallery. 

He  started  ahead  of  the  mardchale,  then,  turning,  he 
said  with  an  Oriental  coolness,  and  with  an  expression 
of  gravity  that  made  Catharine  shudder, 

"  Sire,  there's  some  one  in  the  gallery !  A  man  in 
-white  uniform  !  He  is  going  toward  the  Empress's 
apartments  ! " 


CHAPTER  XII. 
NAPOLEON'S  MAMELUKES. 

NAPOLEON  had  become  terribly  pale  on  hearing 
Roustan 's  cry,  that  a  man  was  going  toward  the  Em- 
press's apartments. 

"  A  white  uniform,"  the  Mameluke  had  said. 

Who,  wearing  an  Austrian  uniform,  could  enter  the 
palace  by  night,  like  a  thief,  and  penetrate  that  portion 
closed  to  all  ?  No  one  but  the  audacious  courtier  he 
had  sent  back  ! 

Thus  Neipperg's  name  came  into  the  Emperor's 
mind.     But  he  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  How  absurd  !  Neipperg  is  at  Vienna.  I  am  un- 
necessarily alarmed.  Ah,  am  I  grown  foolish,  to  think 
even  of  that  Austrian  !  No,  the  white  coat  Roustan 
saw  is  doubtless  some  assassin,  who  thought  to  strike 
me  in  my  sleep  :  but  I  am  awake,  and  he  will  be  caught." 

So  with  the  rapidity  which  characterized  him  on  the 
battle-field,  he  signed  to  Roustan  to  put  out  the  light 


382  Padam*  £m#-(&tu. 

and  get  behind  the  door,  ready  to  come  when  called. 
He  then  put  out  his  study  lights. 

The  imperial  study  was  dark.  The  dying  embers 
on  the  hearth  lent  a  faint  red  glow,  showing  the  door 
to  the  gallery. 

The  Emperor  crept  to  the  duchess's  side,  took  her 
hand,  pressed  it  hard,  and  whispered,  "  Hush  !  " 

Catharine  trembled,  and  the  secret  she  divined  seemed 
about  to  escape  her  lips. 

She  was  sure  Neipperg  was  the  man  whom  Roustan 
had  seen. 

"  Poor  fellow,  he  didn't  keep  his  promise  ! "  she 
thought,  sadly.  "He  came  here  to  the  Empress  ;  he  is 
doomed.     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

She  was  quite  at  a  loss. 

She  must  wait  the  result  of  events. 

All  her  blood,  flooding  her  heart  and  choking  it,  it 
seemed,  she  sank  upon  a  couch,  against  which  Napoleon 
once  more  master  of  himself,  leaned,  watching  the 
door. 

A  soft  step  was  heard,  and  a  light  sound  on  the  floor. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  woman's  form  was  seen. 

"  Madame  de  Montebello,"  murmured  Catharine, 
recognizing  the  lady  of  honor. 

Napoleon  pressed  her  hand  hard,  for  he  feared  she 
would  make  a  sound. 

The  presence  of  the  lady  of  honor,  who  seemed  to 
be  conducting  some  one,  aroused  all  his  suspicions. 

He  followed,  with  an  eye  filled  with  rage,  the  slow 
•and  circumspect  movements  of  Madame  de  Montebello, 


IMame  gzn$-(&tnt.  383 

who  came  to  assure  herself  that  neither  the  Emperor 
nor  any  one  else  was  awake  there. 

He  saw  her  go  away  and  open  the  door  to  gain,  no 
doubt,  the  Empress's  apartments. 

Then  he  rose  and  moved  forward. 

As  he  crossed  the  threshold,  he  stumbled  against  a 
man  who  said  to  him,  "  Duchess,  may  I  pass  ?  " 

But  Napoleon  grasped  him  rudely,  dragged  him  into 
the  room,  and  cried,  "  Roustan  !  ** 

The  Mameluke  came,  light  in  hand. 

"  Neipperg  !  It  is  he,"  cried  Napoleon,  enraged, 
recognizing  the  man  he  held. 

A  woman's  cry  answered  the  Emperor's  exclama- 
tion. 

Madame  de  Montebello,  surprised  at  the  moment 
she  was  about  to  open  the  Empress's  door,  revealed  her 
presence  thus. 

In  his  anger,  Napoleon  had  forgotten  her. 

"  Roustan,  hold  that  woman,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
her,  "  and  come  again  when  I  call  you." 

The  man  captured  Madame  de  Montebello. 

«*  Now,  sir,"  said  Napoleon  to  Neipperg,  to  whom 
Catharine  had  looked  pityingly  and  hopelessly. 
"  what  are  you  doing  in  my  palace  ?  It  is  night — 
you  come  like  a  thief.  I  thought  you  were  in  Vienna. 
How  come  you  here  ?  Answer  me,  sir,"  said  Napoleon, 
huskily,  trying  to  control  himself. 

Neipperg,  pale  but  calm,  answered  :  **  Sire,  I  had 
left  Vienna  !  " 

"  Why  ?  " 


384  Padam*  £att*-<#*tt*. 

"  On  my  sovereign's  order." 

«'  To  what  end  ?  " 

"  To  carry  a  confidential  message  to  her  Majesty, 
the  Empress.     She  is  my  queen." 

"  Ah — you  come  on  a  midnight  embassy  ?  You  are 
laughing  at  me,  Monsieur  Envoy  !  " 

«« Your  Majesty  had  sent  me  away  ;  the  entry  by  day 
was  impossible,  so  I  had  to  come  at  a  lonely  hour." 

"  It  is  past  midnight — scarce  an  hour  to  present 
letters." 

"  It  is  the  hour  my  sovereign  indicated." 

"  The  Empress  gave  you  a  right  to  come  to  her  at 
midnight — in  her  chamber  ?  " 

"  At  midnight  her  Majesty  was  to  give  me  an 
answer  I  asked  of  her  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  my 
master." 

"  The  Empress  could  not  have  made  any  such  en- 
gagement.    You  lie,  sir  !  " 

Neipperg  trembled  at  the  insult. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  between  his  teeth,  "  I  am  an  Aus- 
trian general,  I  have  the  rank  of  a  minister  plenipoten- 
tiary ;  I  am  here  to  represent  my  sovereign  to  an  Aus- 
trian arch-duchess.  You  insult  me — in  your  palace, 
where  I  cannot  answer  you.  To  do  this  where  I  cannot 
demand  my  due  is  cowardice,  sire  !  " 

"Wretch,"  cried  the  Emperor,  beside  himself  at  the 
audacious  impertinence'of  this  man  who  tried  to  brave 
him,  in  his  own  hall,  after  trying  to  steal  an  interview 
with  his  wife. 

Beyond  all  restraint  Napoleon  raised  his  hand   to 


Padame  jftraff-tftnt.  385 

Neipperg's  breast,  and  said,  ««  You  came  by  night,  like 
an  assassin,  to  my  house  ;  you  are  unworthy  the  noble 
emblems  of  your  rank." 

With  an  impulsive  movement  he  snatched  the  orders 
from  Neipperg's  uniform. 

Exasperated,  Neipperg  cried,  "  Ah,  death  to  you  J ' 
and  drew  his  sword. 

Catharine  threw  herself  between  them. 

•*  Roustan,  come,"  cried  the  Emperor,  who  was 
defenceless. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  door  opened  and 
Roustan  fell  upon  Neipperg,  flung  him  to  the  ground, 
disarmed  him,  and  gave  a  peculiar  whistle. 

Three  other  Mamelukes,  placed  under  his  orders  to 
guard  Napoleon's  person,  came  and  helped  him  to 
secure  Neipperg. 

Catharine  had  gone  to  the  Emperor. 

"  Grace,  sire  !  be  lenient,"  she  begged. 

But  Napoleon,  pushing  her  aside,  went  to  the  door 
and  called,  "  Monsieur  de  Lauriston  !  Monsieur  de 
Brigode  !  Monsieur  de  Remusat  I  Come  here,  all  of 
you!" 

Instantly,  the  chamberlain,  the  aides,  all  who  were 
within  call,  came  running. 

«•  Gentlemen,  here  is  a  man  who  raised  his  sword 
against  me.  M.  de  Brigode,  take  his  sword.  M.  de 
Lauriston,  secure  his  person  !  " 

The  Mamelukes  helped  Neipperg  to  rise. 

M.  de  Brigode  took  his  sword  ;  M.  de  Lauriston  laid 
his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  count,  who  stood  like 
marble.    He  said  :  "  la  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  sir, 


386  Padam*  £att;ei-<$m. 

I  arrest  you."  And  to  Napoleon,  "Where  shall  I  take 
the  prisoner  ?  " 

The  Emperor  answered,  M  Guard  Monsieur  de  Neip- 
perg  in  your  own  room.  Let  some  one  summon  the 
Duke  de  Rovigo.  We  must  take  measures  for  an  im- 
mediate court-martial,  to  establish  the  identity  of  the 
culprit,  and,  after  his  flagrant  attempt  upon  my  person, 
to  read  his  sentence.     At  daybreak  all  must  be  over." 

And  while  Neipperg  was  being  conducted  to  the 
aides'  quarters,  Napoleon  turned,  pale  and  anguished, 
toward  his  own  room,  leaving  all  those  who  had  been 
spectators  of  this  tragic  scene. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  DEBT  OF  THE  CANTINIERE. 

The  duchess  had  remained  as  if  stunned  on  hearing 
the  terrible  words  of  Napoleon. 

She  sought  vainly  a  means  of  saving  Neipperg. 

To  think  of  interceding  for  him  with  the  Emperor 
would  have  been  folly.  Neipperg  was  condemned. 
Nothing  could  change  Napoleon's  vengeance.  The 
all-powerful  sovereign  would  punish  the  husband's 
wrong. 

She  went  over  a  score  of  plans,  each  more  impossi- 
ble, more  impracticable  than  the  rest.  Suddenly 
Lefebvre  entered. 


Padam*  £m$-(&tm>  387 

He  was  in  full  uniform,  and  looked  anxious  and 
grieved  over  Neipperg's  arrest,  of  which  an  aide-de- 
camp had  told  him. 

"  Ah,"  said  his  wife,  *'  you  know " 

" Everything,  alas  !  The  unfortunate  man  has  sac- 
rificed himself." 

"  Is  there  no  way  of  softening  the  Emperor,  of  obtain- 
ing grace  ? " 

"  None.  The  Emperor  has  sent  for  me.  As  marshal 
of  the  palace,  the  sad  lot  falls  to  me  to  preside  at  the 
court-martial  which  is  to  judge  that  unfortunate  man." 

"  And  you  will  obey  ?  " 

"  Can  I  disobey  the  Emperor  ?  " 

"  You  know  how  the  Count  de  Neipperg  saved  my 
life  at  Jemmapes.  They  would  have  shot  me  like  a 
dog  ;  but  for  him,  I  should  not  be  here." 

"Yes,  we  owe  him  a  great  debt,"  said  Lefebvre,  in 
a  sad  tone  ;  "and,  then,  you  saved  his  life  on  the  ioth 
of  August — and  yet,  O  God,  I  can  do  nothing  for  him  ; 
my  duty  stands  between.  Oh,  there  come  times  when 
duty  is  hard,  and  when  one  questions  the  justice  of 
discipline  and  obedience.  Still,  I  shall  execute  the 
Emperor's  orders,  but  he  ought  to  give  this  one  to 
some  one  else." 

"  I  am  not  marshal  of  the  palace.  I  have  no  duty  to 
fulfil — no  orders  to  execute.  I  am  a  woman.  I  pity 
him.  We  spoke  of  a  debt.  The  cantiniere  con- 
tracted it ;  the  duchess  will  pay  it.     Let  me  go." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

•«  The  impossible  !  Who,  Lefebvre,  can  get  audience 
of  the  Empress  ?  ** 


388  Padam*  ^attf-Gka*. 

•«  Now  ?    No  one." 

••  No  means  of  passing  a  single  word,  of  recommend- 
ing prudence,  of  letting  her  know " 

••  No,  I  only  may  approach  her  door  to  see  that  the 
sentinels  are  at  their  posts." 

"You?  Why,"  said  Catharine,  joyously,  ••  there  is 
still  a  saving  clause.     Lefebvre,  will  you  help  me  ?  " 

"  How  ?  I  do  not  understand.  You  know  in  such 
a  time  as  this  I  need  things  explained." 

"  Listen.  Try  to  place  yourself  very  near  the  Em- 
press's sleeping  apartment." 

"  That  is  easily  done." 

"  Make  a  sound  to  awake  her.  See  that  she  recog- 
nizes your  voice.  The  presence  of  a  marshal  at  her 
door  at  night  will  arouse  her.  She  will  want  to  know 
the  cause  of  this  tumult.  She  will  be  uneasy  when  she 
misses  her  lady-in-waiting.     Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  A  little.     When  I  have  made  this  stir,  what  then  ?  '* 

"  You  must  say  loudly  to  the  sentinels,  '  Be  careful 
that  no  one  enters  the  Empress's  room.  Seize  any  one 
who  is  found  with  a  letter,  though  it  be  for  the  Emperor 
of  Austria.'  You  must  say  very  loudly  the  name  of  the 
«  Emperor  of  Austria.'    Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Not  quite — go  on." 

"  No  ;  only  go,  and  go  quickly." 

Lefebvre  went,  thinking  of  his  wife's  order,  "  Above 
all  say  loudly  the  name  of  the  Emperor  of  Aus- 
tria !  " 

While  Lefebvre  went  off,  his  wife  sought  for  help  and 
advice  near  by. 

There  was  no  one  who  cared  for  the  prisoner's  fate. 


padam*  £atti$-$*tt*.  389 

M.  de  Lauriston  came  from  the  Emperor  and  asked 
for  the  Due  de  Rovigo. 

"  Where  is  the  minister  of  police  ?  Why  is  he  not 
here  ?     He  doesn't  even  know  what  is  going  on  !  " 

"  The  present  minister  of  police  knows  absolutely 
nothing,"  said  a  high,  sarcastic  voice. 

"  Monsieur  Fouche"  !  Heaven  sent  you,"  said  Cath- 
arine, running  up  to  him. 

"  Most  men  think  me  damned,  and  now  I  am  told  I 
am  sent  from  above  !  "  said  the  former  minister  of 
police,  with  his  foxy  face  and  his  pale,  smooth  cheek. 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  You  can  do  me  a  great  service." 

'*  What  ?  You  know  I  am  always  your  friend.  We 
are  old  acquaintances  ;  you  knew  me  when  I  fought  on 
the  streets  of  Paris  with  no  fortune  but  my  Revolution- 
ary ardor  ;  you  were  then  a  laundress — now  you  are 
duchess." 

"  And,  as  was  foretold,  you  have  been  minister  of 
police." 

"  Have  been  !  and  shall  be  again  !  "  said  Fouch6, 
with  one  of  his  strange  smiles.  "  But  what  can  I  do 
for  you,  my  dear  Duchess  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  has  happened  to  M.  de  Neipperg  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  waiting  for  M.  de  Savary  to  see  that 
he  is  shot." 

"  He  must  not  die.  You  are  now  Duke  of  Otranto  ; 
I  count  on  your  help  to  save  him." 

"  Mine  ?  Pray,  why  ?  M.  de  Neipperg  is  an  Aus- 
trian, an  avowed  enemy  of  the  Emperor's  ;  he  is  neither 
friend  nor  relative  of  mine  ;  I  do  not  see  why  I  should 


39°  iftaflame  gm$-(&mt. 

concern  myself  in  the  matter,  in  the  case  of  a  man  who 
cast  himself  into  the  arms  of  Mamelukes  instead  of  those 
of  a  pretty  woman  !  " 

"  My  dear  Fouche",  do  not  be  heartless." 

"Show  me- why  I  should  take  an  interest  in  Neip- 
perg,  and  I  will  place  what  ability  I  possess  at  your 
disposal.  I  had  thought,  I  own,  to  do  something  for 
him,  but  how  can  I  ?  " 

The  sudden  arrest  of  Neipperg  had,  in  fact,  ruined 
some  of  Fouche"'s  plans,  for  the  latter  knew  all  his  affairs 
and  would,  according  to  circumstances,  have  delivered 
him  over  to  Napoleon  or  let  him  escape. 

So  he  was  put  out.  He  had  tracked  Neipperg  long 
and  steadily,  only  to  have  Roustan  catch  him  ! 

The  duchess's  words  gave  him  some  hope. 

"What  interest,  my  dear  Duchess,"  he  asked,  with 
an  insinuating  smile,  "  have  you  in  the  fate  of  M.  de 
Neipperg  ?  " 

"  A  considerable  interest.  You  wish  to  be  once 
more  minister  of  police  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  the  good  of  the  State  and  the  safety  of  the 
Emperor  simply,"  said  he,  modestly. 

"  Here  is  your  chance.     Save  M.  de  Neipperg." 

"  And  expose  myself  to  the  chances  of  being  exiled 
by  His  Majesty  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  Listen.  Since  there  is  not  the  shadow 
of  an  intrigue  between  the  Empress  and  Monsieur  de 
Neipperg " 

"  Oh,  not  the  least !     You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite.  M.  de  Neipperg  can  prove  his  innocence. 
But  not  alone  !  ** 


Padam*  gm$-(&tM.  391 

•With  whose  help'?" 

"  The  Empress's." 

«'  True.     She  is  the  interested  party.     But  how " 

"  If  you  will  delay  the  convening  of  the  court-martial 
to  decide  the  execution — to  keep  Savary  away — to  give 
the  Empress  time  to  interfere — then  our  man  is  saved." 

«•  Ah  ! " 

"  The  Empress,  knowing  that  through  you  the  execu- 
tion was  delayed,  and  being  angry  with  Savary,  will 
prevail  upon  the  Emperor  to  reinstate  you.  She  will 
praise  your  ability,  protest  against  the  injustice  of  your 
removal,  and  make  her  august  spouse  put  you  again  at 
the  head  of  his  police  ministry." 

"  Duchess,  I  am  convinced.     I  will  try  to  save  him. 

"  How  ? " 

"  I  will  see  the  Emperor  at  once." 

Just  then  Constant,  the  Emperor's  valet,  came 
out. 

"Will  you  tell  the  Emperor  I  am  here,  my  good  Con- 
stant ;  I  wish  to  speak  with  him  ?  " 

Constant  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"  What  will  you  say  ?  "  asked  Catharine. 

"  I  will  show  His  Majesty  that  it  is  impossible  to 
deliver  an  order  of  execution  at  once  without  regular 
proceedings,  without  judgment,  upon  a  man  found  by 
night  in  the  palace  ;  that  he  will  be  ridiculed  ;  that  he 
will  compromise  the  Empress,  irritate  the  Austrian 
court,  and,  at  the  same  time,  justify  all  the  scandalous 
tales  afloat  concerning  an  intimacy  between  M.  de 
Neipperg  and  Marie-Louise." 

*  Ah,  here  comes  Constant." 


392  Padame  £att0-<$*tw. 

«•  Will  his  Majesty  see  me  ?  "    • 

"  His  Majesty  will  receive  the  Duke  of  Otranto  ;  but 
only  after  he  has  seen  M.  le  Due  de  Rovigo." 

"  Is  that  all  his  Majesty  said  ?" 

"  His  Majesty  added,  '  I  cannot  receive  the  Duke  of 
Otranto  now  ;  I  must  first  settle  with  M.  de  Neipperg.' 
So,  monsieur,  you  must  wait.  Ah,  here  comes  M.  de 
Rovigo.     I  must  announce  him." 

Savary  had  come,  rather  out  of  breath. 

«'  Ah  !  What  has  happened  ?  Do  you  know  why  the 
Emperor  has  sent  for  me  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
you  who  pretend  to  know  everything  ?  "  he  said  to  his 
predecessor.  And,  he  added  scornfully,  "I  presume  it 
is  to  you  I  owe  this  call.  You  have  again  given  his 
Majesty  a  notion  of  a  military  conspiracy  !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Fouche",  in  his  most  indifferent 
tone.     "Itis  about  M.  de  Neipperg,  the  former  courtier." 

"  M.  de  Neipperg  ?  Why,  he  is  peacefully  sleeping 
on  his  estates  near  Vienna.  He  hunts,  he  fishes,  he 
plays  the  flute.  I  have  just  received  a  most  detailed 
report.     He  is  seen  only  near  Vienna." 

"  My  dear  successor,  tell  that  to  the  Emperor,  and 
he  will  congratulate  you  on  your  accurate  information." 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing.  I  shall  simply  tell  him  M.  de 
Neipperg  is  at  Vienna,  to  stay  there  ! " 

And  Savary  entered  proudly  into  the  Emperor's  apart- 
ments. 

"  Neipperg  knows  your  writing,  does  he  not. 
Duchess  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  since  Savary  is  here  we  must  work  rapidly 


Padam*  $m$-(&tnt,  393 

Write  as  I  dictate,"  and  he  handed  her  pen  and 
paper.  She  wrote,  not  without  an  effort,  two  lines, 
ordering  Neipperg  to  feign  sleep,  and  then  to  get  out 
of  a  window  which  would  be  noiselessly  opened  for 
him  while  the  guards  were  drawn  aside. 

"  Send  this  note  to  him,"  said  Fouche"  to  Catharine, 
"  and  say  it  is  sent  so  he  may  write  to  his  mother  be- 
fore he  dies." 

Catharine  sent  the  paper  and  ink,  and  M.  de  Lauris- 
ton  undertook  her  mission.  He  returned  empty-handed. 
It  was  done — and  none  who  had  charge  of  Neipperg 
knew  what  had  been  sent  him. 

"  I  must  leave  you  a  moment,  my  dear  Duchess, '* 
said  Fouche",  "  I  must  post  some  of  my  men  below  the 
window,  to  receive  our  prisoner.  You,  Madame  la 
Mare"chale,  must  try  to  attract  the  attention  of  M.  de 
Brigode,  who,  through  an  open  door,  watches  Neip- 
perg. Your  protege"  must  get  a  chance  to  go  to  the 
window  and  leave  his  coat,  as  if  he  were  sleeping 
under  it.     Good-bye,  and  do  not  despair  !  " 

Fouche"  slipped  out.  Like  a  shadow,  he  glided 
among  the  officers  and  was  gone. 

Catharine,  taking  courage,  called  loudly  :  "  M.  de 
Brigode,  will  you  kindly  ask  the  Emperor  if  I  may 
retire,  or  if  I  am  to  wait  here  ?  " 

"The  Emperor  wants  to  see  you,  madame,"  said 
Napoleon's  voice,  behind  her. 

"Sire,  I  obey  orders,"  said  Catharine,  trembling. 

The  Emperor's  entry  presaged  no  good.  Would  he 
hasten  the  execution  ?  Savary  was  there  I  Would  the 
prisoner  have  .time  to  escape  ? 


394  PadHtne  gM$-(Btnt. 

All  these  anxious  thoughts  tortured  her. 

«'  For  once,  you  understand,"  said  Napoleon,  rudely 
to  Savary  ;  "  try  to  be  less  incapable  than  usual.    Go  !  " 

*'  Sire,"  answered  the  Duke  de  Rovigo,  bowing,  *'  in 
three  hours,  at  sunrise,  the  condemned  will  be  no  more, 
and  no  trace  will  be  left  of  the  place  where  his  guilty 
body  is  laid." 

And  the  minister  of  police  took  his  departure. " 

««  Now,  madame,"  said  the  Emperor  to  Catharine, 
we  too  have  an  account  to  settle  ;  or  rather  we  three, 
for  I  shall  send  for  Madame  de  Montebello."  He  had 
that  lady  brought  to  him.     "  Now  leave  us,"  he  said. 

He  plied  both  ladies  with  questions.  He  wanted  to 
extract  a  confession,  a  revelation.  Madame  de  Monte- 
bello had  brought  Neipperg  in,  and  guided  him  toward 
Marie-Louise's  room ;  Mar^chale  Lefebvre  had  known 
him  ;  during  his  sojourn  in  France  Neipperg  had  often 
been  at  the  Lefebvres' — an  intrigue  with  the  mar^chale 
had  even  been  hinted  at. 

Holding  them  with  his  piercing  eye,  Napoleon 
ordered  them  to  hide  nothing  of  the  truth,  however 
dreadful. 

He  must  know  if  Marie-Louise  were  true  or  false,  no 
matter  how  much  it  would  hurt ! 

He  almost  feared  to  know  the  truth  ;  and  yet  doubt 
was  worse.  He  would  gladly  have  said  :  "My  crown, 
my  sceptre,  my  empire,  for  a  word,  an  indication,  a 
proof ! " 

In  his  great  mind,  now  so  troubled,  so  dejected,  a 
thousand  confused  thoughts  arose.  He  made  scores 
of  conjectures. 


Padame  £8tt0-<3«n«.  395 

With  the  tenacity  of  an  officer  of  the  Spanish  Inquisi- 
tion, he  plied  the  two  women  with  questions,  fixing 
upon  them  his  burning  eye,  losing  no  movement  of  face 
or  figure,  seeking  to  read  their  conscience,  and  their 
innermost  thoughts. 

By  their  firmness,  they  succeeded  in  allaying  some 
of  his  suspicions. 

His  voice  grew  softer,  his  eye  less  stern,  less  cruel. 

"  So  you  think,  Madame,  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig,  that 
I  am  deceived  in  my  opinion  of  the  object  of  M.  de  Neip- 
perg's  visit  here-to-night  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  less  irritated 
tone.  "  You  really  think  Madame  de  Montebello  told 
the  truth,  when  she  said  that  it  was  only  about  a  letter 
to  be  sent,  confidentially,  through  M.  de  Neipperg,  to 
my  father-in-law  ?  " 

"Sire,  I  am  persuaded  that  such  is  the  truth,  and 
the  whole  truth,"  said  Catharine,  firmly. 

"Oh,  would  it  were  the  truth!"  murmured  Napo- 
leon, wistfully. 

"  But,  sire,  you  can  verify  Madame  de  Montebello's 
statement,"  said  Catharine,  to  whom  a  bold  idea  had 
come,  which  might  persuade  the  Emperor. 

"  Tell  me  how  !  " 

"  Her  Majesty  is  asleep — she  knows  nothing  of  what 
is  going  on  in  the  palace." 

"True — silence  has  been  enjoined — the  sentinels  are 
forbidden  to  speak  with  her  or  her  women." 

"  Then,  sire,  act  as  though  you  knew  nothing.  Let 
Madame  de  Montebello  finish,  under  your  own  eyes, 
her  interrupted  mission,  and  you  will  see  for  yourself!  " 


396  PKdame  Jtetuei-ta*. 

"  By  Heaven,  you  are  sensible,  madame.  I  will  try 
your  experiment  at  once."  Only  he  added,  severely, 
taking  Madame  de  Montebello  by  the  arm,  "  do  not 
you  play  with  me  !  Not  a  word,  not  a  sign  to  warn 
the  Empress.  Forward  !  Remember,  I  am  behind 
you  ! " 

So  the  lady-in-waiting  started  toward  the  Empress's 
apartments,  her  knees  shaking,  her  body  trembling  con- 
vulsively, for  she  did  not  know  that  the  Empress  had 
been  warned  by  Lefebvre's  loud  words  to  the  sentinel, 
in  regard  to  intercepting  her  letter  and  sending  it  to 
the  Emperor. 

Napoleon  stood,  burning,  in  a  corner,  his  hands 
clenched,  grasping  the  arm  of  a  chair,  listening,  look- 
ing, with  head  thrown  forward,  eyes  bright,  and  every 
nerve  tingling. 

Madame  de  Montebello,  meantime,  had  entered  the 
Empress's  room,  and,  leaving  the  door  open,  on  the 
Emperor's  orders,  said,  distinctly  : 

"  Madame,  M.  de  Neipperg  sends  me  to  ask  your 
answer — he  is  in  the  ante-chamber — what  shall  I  say 
to  him  ?  " 

The  Empress  sighed  like  one  aroused  from  sleep, 
stretched  her  arms,  and  took,  from  a  table  beside  her 
bed,  a  sealed  letter,  which  she  gave  to  Madame  de 
Montebello,  saying,  "  Here  is  the  answer  !  Greet  M. 
de  Neipperg  kindly  for  me — and  leave  me,  for  I  am 
very  sleepy." 

The  lady-in-waiting  returned  to  Napoleon,  the  letter 
in  her  hand. 


gttadame  £aws-$*tte.  397 

He  took  it  eagerly,  opened  and  read  it. 

The  Mar6chale  Lefebvre  and  Madame  de  Montebello 
watched  his  face  anxiously. 

They  saw  his  brow  clear  ;  and,  as  he  read,  suddenly 
he  smiled  and,  pressing  the  letter  between  his  hands,  he 
lifted  it,  passionately,  to  his  lips. 

"  Dear,  dear  Louise,"  he  murmured  ;  '«  she  does  love 
me ! " 

Then  addressing  the  ladies,  he  said,  "  Ladies,  you 
are  right.  Not  one  word  here  could  disturb  the  most 
jealous  of  husbands.  It  is  all  politics.  The  Empress 
is  not  altogether  of  my  opinion,  but  that  is  a  trifle. 
Only  one  word  of  M.  de  Neipperg.  My  sweet  Louise 
asks  her  father  to  choose,  in  future,  another  messenger, 
as  the  presence  of  that  gentleman  at  my  court  has 
caused  gossip.  Ah,  Duchess,  I  am  too  happy,"  he  said 
joyously  to  Catharine. 

««  Now,  sire,  since  your  doubts  are  dead,"  said  Cath- 
arine, "  you  will  surely  countermand  that  order  about 
the  Count  de  Neipperg." 

'« Let  him  go  at  once,  and  never  return  to  my  court, 
no,  nor  to  France.  I  want  no  more  of  him.  Heavens  ! 
I  couldn't  think  for  a  moment  that  ht  was  guilty  !  But 
he  had  a  treasonable  air.  A  poor  thing,  indeed,  on  the 
part  of  my  father-in-law,  to  send  thus  to  find  out  if  I 
made  his  daughter  happy,"  he  said. 

"  As  for  poor  Neipperg,"  he  added,  "  you  shall  see  !  " 

And  the  Emperor,  forgetting  all  his  suspicions,  called 
to  M.  de  Remusat. 

"  Take,"  he  said  to  him,  "  M.  de  Neipperg's  sword. 


398  ptadam*  £an$i-6*tt*. 

there,  on  my  desk,  and  give  it  to  him,  and  invite  him 
hereafter  to  put  it  to  a  better  use." 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  the  chamberlain. 

"Conduct  M.  de  Neipperg  to  his  carriage,  and  wish 
him  a  pleasant  journey.     M.  de  Neipperg  is  free." 

"  Alas  !  M.  de  Neipperg  is  dead,"  said  a  voice  behind 
the  chamberlain. 

It  was  Savary  who  had  entered,  accompanied  by 
aides  and  officers. 

"  Dead  ?  Have  you  shot  him  already  ?  "  cried  the 
Emperor.  "  Why  this  haste  ?  You  should  have  waited 
for  the  dawn  !  " 

"  Sire,"  Savary  said,  •*  I  had  intended  to  do  so.  But 
M.  de  Neipperg  evaded  me.  He  escaped  by  a  window. 
Happily  there  were  men  posted  there.  They  caught 
him.  They  put  him  into  a  vehicle  and  drove  him  to  the 
place  of  execution  in  the  forest.  Listen,  here  is  M.  the 
Duke  of  Otranto,  who  was  there." 

*•  By  chance,"  said  Fouche",  approaching. 

«'  M.  le  Due  d'Otranto  can  tell  your  Majesty  that  all 
has  gone  as  I  have  told  you." 

"  You  are  a  bungler,"  said  the  Emperor  severely. 
«*  If  M.  de  Neipperg  escaped,  you  should  have  let  him 
go.     Don't  you  think  so,  Fouche"  ?  " 

"  Your  Majesty  is  quite  right.  Had  I  had  the  honor 
to  be  still  the  minister  of  police,  I  should  have  guessed 
that  something  would  turn  up.  I  should  have  known 
that  when  the  Emperor  knew  all  he  would  surely 
pardon." 

•«  Yes,  one  must  foresee  things,"  said  the  Emperor  to 


Paitame  $?att£-tfktt*.  399 

Savary,  "  you  cannot  foresee  anything,  therefore  you 
cannot  administer  justice." 

"  It  happened,"  continued  Fouche",  profiting  by  the 
Emperor's  approval,  "  that  another  order  should  have 
been  given  to  the  officers  to  wait  final  instructions  at 
the  place  of  execution — that  is  what  I  should  have  done 
had  I  been  in  power  to  do  it." 

"  It's  a  pity  you  were  not,"  said  Napoleon. 

"  Really,  sire  ?  Then  pardon  me  but  I  acted  as  if  I 
had  been." 

"  How  ?  " 

"Seeing  that  there  was  a  mistake,  and  sure  that, 
when  your  Majesty  was  assured  of  all  interested  par- 
ties you  would  regret  your  hasty  decision  and  pardon 
M.  deNeipperg,  I  took  it  upon  myself  to  give  orders  to  the 
men.  I  knew  I  could  rely  upon  them.  I  told  them  to 
turn  their  backs  on  the  forest  and  conduct  M.  de  Neip- 
perg  to  the  Soissons  road.  They  believed  me  to  be 
again  minister  of  police." 

"  So  you  are,"  cried  Napoleon,  charmed  at  Fouche"s 
solution  of  the  difficulty. 

"  Those  men  obeyed  me,  sire,  so  well,  that  M.  de 
Neipperg  is  not  dead,  as  M.  de  Rovigo  has  told  you. 
M.  de  Neipperg  is  going  toward  Soissons,  where  he 
will  be  at  breakfast  time." 

"  My  compliments,  Duke  of  Otranto,  you  are  a  pre- 
cious servitor — you  divine  what  others  cannot  see.  But, 
tell  me,  were  you  quite  sure  I  would  pardon  ?  " 

««  Almost  sure,  sire.  I  had  spoken  with  the  Duchess 
of  Dantzig." 


400  *  gfladame  g>m$-(&mt. 

"  But  you  let  a  prisoner  of  State  escape.  That  was 
serious." 

"Sire,  I  had  men  sent  in  advance  to  Soissons.  I 
should  have  been  able  to  re-arrest  him." 

"  You  are  a  devil — you  see  everything,"  said  Napo- 
leon, in  a  gracious  tone. 

And,  turning  to  the  Mare"chale  Lefebvre,  he  added, 
**  I  fancy  it  is  time,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  for  you  to 
rejoin  your  husband.  As  for  me,  I  shall  awake  the 
Empress  and  assure  her  that  her  letter  to  Vienna  has 
been  sent." 

Just  then  Lefebvre  entered  for  orders. 
"  The  Emperor  has   pardoned,"   Catharine  said  to 
him,   "and,  as  you  know,  dear,  he  no  longer  wishes  to 
part  us." 

"  Bravo  !  I  thank  you,  sire,"  said  the  marshal,  moved 
by  the  Emperor's  leniency. 

"  Lefebvre,  when  one  has  a  wife  like  yours,  one 
clings  to  her,"  said  Napoleon,  smiling. 

Happy  in  the  assurance  that  Marie-Louise  was  true, 
pleased  that  he  had  been  lenient,  satisfied  that  Neip- 
perg,  thanks  to  Fouche\  had  escaped  Savary,  Napoleon 
lifted  Catharine's  face  and  kissed  her — a  mark  of  un- 
usual favor  at  his  court.  "  Good-night,  Madame  Sans- 
Ge*ne,"  he  said. 

And,  glad  at  heart,  Napoleon  went  to  seek  his  wife, 
Marie-Louise.  All  this  was  nine  months  prior  to  the 
birth  of  the  King  of  Rome. 

THE  END. 


M"3/3 

)  t1f 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


! 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


^ 

^ 


